


Durin's League

by hobbitgrl



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Always-a-girl-Bilbo, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Bilbo, Humor, Romance, Rule 63, all the dwarves all the things all the feelings, fem!Bilbo, medium build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitgrl/pseuds/hobbitgrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the mysterious Durin's League takes the national spotlight in the battle against the super-powered villains of the Smaug Corporation Bilbo Baggins doesn't think much of it. At least not until Thorin Oakenshield crashes through her living room wall and Gandalf tells her she's their only hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Adventure Begins

**Author's Note:**

> It's a superhero!hobbit! because why not. I own nothing, regular disclaimers apply. It's fem!bilbo because we loves it precious. Also I am finally going through and catching all those pesky typos and cleaning things up a bit (it's a work in progress). My thanks and apologies to everyone who has suffered through anyway!

Bilbo Baggins shook her head at the television. People were just so full of dramatics and Bilbo had never seen the purpose in crowds and noise and dramatics. She preferred the quiet life she had carved for herself in her corner apartment of an unremarkable part of town; there wasn't much excitement in Shire Apartments and that meant she never had much opportunity to see the great super-battles that seemed to crop up overnight, but that suited her just fine. Just last Thursday her neighbor Beulah had caught her by the garbage shoot and rambled on and on about how her sister's nephew's cousin by marriage had lost his car. Apparently he had come out of work to find most of the neighboring skyscraper crushing the poor thing beyond repair. Bilbo nodded her head sympathetically making all the appropriate conciliatory sounds while her brain scrambled for an excuse to escape. People were exhausting. 

            It was all old news; the superheroes were all anyone talked about these days. Bilbo's morning program was running yet another story on Durin's League, and the anchors argued—again—whether the mysterious members were saving the city or destroying it:

            “ _A quarter of the financial district has been destroyed or damaged since Durin's League began their reign of terror.”_

_“I don't see how you can call it a reign of terror—”_

_“What would you call it then? Do you agree that these monsters are somehow..._ superheroes?”

            _“They're people not monsters!”_

_“People don't fly or shoot laser beams. And last I checked even the strongest humans couldn't lift an entire SUV with one hand. Those don't sound like any sort of people I know. But maybe you're friends with a more...colorful crowd?”_

_“I'm sorry, Tim—was that you being racist? Who would stop the Smaug Corporation if not for Durin's League? How are can we expect the police to stop a bank robbery when the robbers can punch through a concrete wall and teleport the money away? Do you hate these people because of what they do or because they're different?”_

_“They're all subhuman monsters if you ask me and—“  
_

_“Nobody asked you Tim.”_

Bilbo pressed the remote in disgust. That show used to be quality programming. Honestly, this was why she didn't go outside. Standing up she shuffled back into the kitchen, irritated and bored. She opened the refrigerator door and stared inside—she supposed she could have a second breakfast? A lovely omelet maybe or...

            An explosion rocked the building and Bilbo froze, stuck dumbly in front of the fridge. Dust and debris made it impossible to see for a moment and she blinked her watering eyes realizing it wasn't just the building that exploded, it was her apartment. Why had her apartment exploded. She opened and closed her mouth, gaping like a fish while someone coughed and the rubble covering her couch shifted. Bilbo shut the refrigerator door and moved back to the living room in a daze, her brain refusing to process the travesty that had been her outer wall. Why was there a hole in her apartment.

            “I will kill you this time Thorin Oakenshield!” a voice hissed. It was significantly less shocking than it would have been before the wall exploded. The rubble shifted again as a man broke out from underneath the chunks of concrete, clearly unsteady on his feet. Bilbo couldn't make out much through the dust beyond an impressive height and general largeness, but she finally got with the program as shock gave way to outrage.

            “Excuse you!” Bilbo snapped, walking directly between the stranger and the hole in her wall. “You blew up my apartment!”

            The figure outside was unimpressed. He clung to the adjacent building and he, it, whatever the thing was, made Bilbo suck in a breath—the only clear thought she could form was “grotesque.” Pale, scarred skin and a mouth full of fangs smiled at her as saliva coated leathery skin; Bilbo felt the adrenaline kick up her heartbeat while she stared the monster down. He exuded a palpable _evil_ and she wanted to look away, to hide when his large lamp-like eyes focused on her.

            “I will kill you little thing,” the monster sneered, muscles bunching as he prepared to leap into the room. “And I will take my time.”

            It was a promise that twisted Bilbo's stomach, and she raised her hands on impulse. Survival instinct kicked in and energy bolts shot from her hands pelting it; one clawed hand came up to protect its face and it howled in shock and pain, but Bilbo didn't stop. She moved forward, trying to increase the intensity of her power and stayed focused as her vision began to fuzz out—she was out of practice. Her mother's heritage had never come easy to her and she hadn't practiced in years, but Bilbo ignored the pain. Some long forgotten part of herself roared to life and Bilbo heard herself scream as she kept firing. Welts started to appear on its body and it finally turned, scurrying away across the building and around the corner, its claws leaving a trail of scratches in the brick and concrete. Bilbo dropped her hands and wavered for a second, her head pounding as she fought to keep her balance. Her vision tunneled and she stepped forward to catch herself.

            Except she was already at the edge and when she stumbled it was right out into open air.

            Bilbo had one, brief, frozen moment as time stopped and she felt herself hover like one of those cartoons; it was like a dream until she looked down and then time caught up and she was falling, plummeting faster than she could breathe towards the cement below.

            Suddenly something slammed into her from behind and her momentum shifted, driving to the side. She was—she wasn't falling she was _zooming_. How could she be zooming? She couldn't fly. Why wasn't she dead? Was she dreaming? Something moved around her waist and her body turned in mid-air, a disconcerting feeling, but not as disconcerting as coming face-to-face with the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life—a man she realized had been buried under the rubble of her apartment wall moments ago.

            “Hold on to me,” he said. His voice rumbled, it actually rumbled—and Bilbo felt the vibrations in her chest. She resisted, the order feeling too intimate, but then her center of gravity shifted unexpectedly, her stomach plunging to her feet as he shot upward and she felt herself slide in his grip. He responded by crushing her to him—their bodies flattened together from neck to groin—and Bilbo’s arms shot around him on instinct, her fingers digging into the back of his shoulders. He dropped one arm lower and she felt his hand splay across the small of her back for more stability. He seemed completely unperturbed by it all, but Bilbo felt like she was choking on her pulse.

            “I've got you,” he said, completely misreading her discomfort. Completely overwhelmed she buried her face in his neck like some sort of feckless idiot. Her body was giving out—she could feel it as her eyes glued shut and her breathing became labored. She'd used too much power too fast, and even the adrenaline from the fall couldn't stave off the blackness. She could only hope he didn't drop her. He changed direction again and Bilbo felt her stomach shoot from her feet to somewhere in her right thigh before finally losing the battle for consciousness. Her last inane thought was that he smelled as good as he looked.

 

            She woke up gradually, aching all over. Everything felt sore and murky, and she lay still trying to reorient herself.

            “Well what was I supposed to do?” a familiar deep voice snapped over her head. “She was unconscious! What if Gollum came back?”

            Her eyes snapped open and she sat up suddenly but froze as pain shot through her torso. She was stuck between agony and terror as two men stared at her.

            “Easy lass,” a strange man with a salt-and-pepper beard soothed her. “We won't hurt you.”

            Bilbo eyed the room with brittle awareness; her brain hadn't caught up yet, and she was choking on her hammering heart. She was in a strange room with the man who had caught her, Mr. Deep Voice, and another. Mr. Deep Voice stood on one side with an actively hostile expression, while the older man smiled patronizingly at her like she was some kind of spooked horse.

            “Where am I?” she snapped. They shared a look of shock at her tone and Bilbo focused on her breathing, trying to calm down.

            “I don’t remember what happened,” she tried again. “Who are you? How did I get here?”

            Nothing felt right; using her powers had never hurt this much and Bilbo couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so angry. But then she'd also never passed out midair in the arms of someone who could fly. She just needed to get home, she thought, but then she remembered her home had a giant hole in it. Bilbo dropped her throbbing head in her hands, the pain making her eyes water.

            “You got here because I brought you,” Mr. Deep Voice answered, but Bilbo couldn’t raise her head yet to look at him. “And I did that because you jumped out of a building and then passed out in my arms.” The condescension in his words was not lost on Bilbo.

            “I didn’t jump,” Bilbo snapped, pulling her head up to glare at him, “I fell. And I fell because you decided to enter _my_ apartment through the wall instead of the door like a civilized person.”

            “I didn’t want to be thrown through a wall,” he retorted, “and I certainly didn’t want to play hero to some idiot without enough sense to run and hide.”

            “I’m an idiot? Well maybe you shouldn’t call yourself a hero when this idiot wins your battles for you.”

            “I like her,” a smooth contralto interrupted. Bilbo's gaze shot from Mr. Deep Voice to the largest, most intimidating woman she had ever seen carrying a tray into the room. She must have been well over six feet tall and sported a blue and green mohawk that added another three inches. Piercings glinted from up and down her ears along with her eyebrow and nose, and tattoos decorated her bronze skin, winding down her neck across her broad shoulders before wrapping around her impressively muscled arms.

            She was the most stunning woman Bilbo had ever seen in her life.

            “Dwalin,” the older man sighed, taking the tray she carried. Unperturbed, Dwalin ignored him, giving Bilbo a long lingering gaze that left her feeling more than a little soft around the edges.

            “You're a little...short,” Dwalin cocked her head. “And soft if you don't mind me saying. _You_ beat Gollum?”

            “I've never favored athleticism,” Bilbo answered, suddenly self-conscious. She straightened up instinctively and fought the urge to wince when the movement tweaked her sore muscles. Her hands crushed the sheet, but Bilbo refused to hide behind it. Yes, she was short and soft but she would not be ashamed of that. A sedentary lifestyle and a love of all things potato had given Bilbo a healthy figure she was quite proud of actually—at least until she found herself under the scrutiny of someone as solid as Dwalin. And the rest of them for that matter. There wasn't an ounce of fat between them. How had she ended up in this situation? “Are you people professional athletes?”

            That brought a chuckle from Dwalin who sat down next to Bilbo on the bed, placing her back against the headboard like they were old friends. The easy familiarity shocked her, but she was more astounded to realize she didn't really mind. Dwalin stretched her much longer legs out next to Bilbo and looked at her expectantly.

            “What?” Bilbo asked. More people were filing in now—mostly men but women too—different heights, skin colors, and appearances but all of them seemed strong, solid, and dangerous. They moved like people who relied on their body for a living, and Bilbo shifted nervously, feeling more uncomfortable and out of place as they surrounded her. She needed to go. She needed to get home and figure out what to do about her apartment. “I should probably get going. I know I've put you out and—”

            “You'll stay right here my dear Bilbo,” a voice interrupted. The bodies parted and a strange looking old man entered—he was tall and slender, almost lithe and delicate in his physicality, but his gray eyes pinned her to the bed leaving her feeling more vulnerable than all the muscles in the world.

            “How do you know my name?” she asked him.

            “You are in the apartment of Thorin Oakenshield, Leader of Durin's League,” the old man answered. “And my name is Gandalf.”

            “Gandalf?!” Bilbo shrieked, excitement at recognizing someone in this nightmare overtaking her. “Gandalf of _Gandalf's Wizards_?!” The strangers surrounding her were suddenly far less threatening if they were here with _Gandalf—_ Gandalf who used to host her favorite show growing up. Gandalf who featured in her favorite childhood memories. What was he doing here? How did he know her name? Why—but then the rest of his sentence caught up with her.

            “Wait,” she stopped. “Durin's League? Like...the superheroes?”

            Dwalin started chuckling next to her, her solid body shaking the bed gently as she laughed. The others milled about awkwardly sneaking glances at Thorin as they smothered giggles behind hands and coughs. So Mr. Deep Voice was Thorin Oakenshield? The name meant nothing to Bilbo, but she was glad to know who was staring at her like she carried the plague.

            “We are _not_ superheroes,” he growled.

            “I—I'm sorry,” Bilbo tried to say with civility. She hadn't meant to offend anyone, but his omnipresent dislike of her was starting to rankle. “Who are you then?”

            “We are victims of Smaug and defenders of the free peoples of this Earth!”

            “Well,” Bilbo said, smiling at his joke but irritated he wouldn’t answer her seriously, “that's a bit melodramatic isn't it?”

            Everyone froze, even Dwalin who hadn't seemed to take anything seriously since Bilbo woke up in this sideshow. Bilbo knew she'd said something wrong, again, but Thorin was clearly being ridiculous; he couldn't possibly have been serious. He was not smiling, though, and as he stared her down she realized he had been very, very serious. Bilbo felt guilt creep in around her temper; he had saved her life after all.

            “I—”

            “OUT!” Thorin thundered, storming away from her. “Someone get her out of here! I do not have time for middle-aged housewives!”

            “Midd—” Bilbo gasped, pushing herself to her feet. Had he...he had just called her _middle-aged_. “I saved your life you ungrateful jackass!”

            “ _You_ saved _my_ life?” Thorin bellowed, spinning on his heel to face her.

            “You were buried under a pile of rubble and that, that...”

            “Gollum,” Dwalin helpfully called out.

            “Yes, Gollum was ready to finish the job,” Bilbo waved in his face.

            “I would have been fine,” he snarled.

            “Oh shut up,” Bilbo said. “You couldn't even stand up when I started stinging him.”

            Thorin embodied unimpressed. “Stinging him?”

            “It's what my father used to call it,” Bilbo brushed off. “The point is that I am _not_ middle-aged!”

            “Fine.” The pompous ass looked affronted, like she was the rude one. His lip curled and she sucked in a breath for round two, but he only turned and stalked away. “I should have left you on the street.”

            “Superhero!” Bilbo shouted at him. It was a weak strike, but it seemed to do the trick.

            He ripped the door off its hinges and left it hanging brokenly behind him.

            “I'm going home!” Bilbo told the lot of them.

            “Oh no dear Bilbo,” Gandalf called gently, “you have no home to go to I'm afraid. And it wouldn't be safe besides.”

            “What?” Her head was still pounding and they were all staring at her like she was their entertainment. If she thought it wouldn’t kill her Bilbo would blast the lot of them. “Thank you for your help today, but I have no business being here I need to get home and—”

            “You'll recall Gollum destroyed your apartment?” Gandalf asked moving towards her. “And he promised to kill you if Thorin is to be believed.”

            “Well I,” Bilbo stammered, “I suppose that's true. But I can’t just stay here. And the wall! The maintenance staff will surely be there by now and—”

            “Oh I've no doubt they're hard at work,” Gandalf interrupted again. “But concrete walls will be no obstacle for Gollum or his ilk.”

            “But Gollum was fighting Thorin! I just happened to be there,” Bilbo pointed out.

            “And now he knows who you are and what you look like,” Gandalf interjected. “I'm afraid this city has become quite unsafe for you.”

            Bilbo had no response to that. She was nobody, just one more faceless tenant of Shire Apartments. How—what was she supposed to do then? This wasn't her life; she wasn't worth the time of something unsavory like Gollum. She'd lived in that apartment her whole life; she couldn't just walk away. Even if she moved she had to pack and salvage what she could—she didn't even have a change of clothes. This was too much, too ridiculous. She couldn't...they couldn't...her thoughts trailed off. What was she going to do? Where would she live? Bilbo stared at Gandalf, bewildered by the seriousness of his expression.

            “I see from you expression you've begun to understand the situation,” Gandalf added, pulling a pipe out from somewhere. “Your fate is now quite tied to ours I'm afraid.”

            That brought her attention back to him. “What on Earth does that mean?”

            “I'm pleased to offer you a place to say,” Gandalf said with a hint of a smile. “And a place among Durin's League.”

            “WHAT?!”

            She screamed it at him, loud enough everyone in the room winced. It was certainly the least dignified response of her life, but Bilbo thought anything that ridiculous deserved no less.


	2. The Monster Thorin Oakenshield

Bilbo had moved to one of the other bedrooms; apparently she had woken up in Thorin’s room and that thought made her…uncomfortable. Unlike his room with its single giant bed this one was set up like something out of a summer camp—bunk beds lined the walls and sleeping bags littered the floors between piles of clothing, personal belongings, and weapons. Bilbo was well past surprised when she sat down on a knife, forgotten under some covers. These people were insane and they'd just invited her to stay. Or told her. She wasn't precisely sure it had been a question.

            One of the other women, Bombur, Bilbo thought her name had been, had offered a change of clothes and shown her where the shower was. Bilbo had been in her pajamas when this whole shindig started—caught without so much as a bra. She was shorter than all of them, but Bombur was the closest to her in width and Bilbo supposed the material would even out. Bombur had the figure of an Olympic shot-putter and Bilbo had the chest of her mother; none of them had bras Bilbo's size, but Bombur's sports bra looked like it would work until Bilbo had a chance to go shopping. She had begrudgingly accepted, but she stoutly refused to borrow anyone else's underwear.

            No book or movie could have prepared her for any of this.

            Gandalf said she could go back to her apartment—with no less than five of the others—but not until tomorrow. Bilbo supposed she should be grateful she wasn't being treated like a prisoner even if she was being held captive. Thus far Durin's League wasn't all that scary even if they were strange—everyone had been more than congenial actually, except for Thorin who still hadn't come back after his temper tantrum. Bilbo had tried to use his attitude as a reason to leave, but the others had assured her he would come around; no one listened when she said she didn’t want him to. She wasn't entirely sure what she thought of him, but she didn’t like that he thought she was incompetent. Bilbo liked to think she knew her limits, but it wasn’t like she was completely inept. Even worse she couldn’t shake the memory of holding onto him or the feeling of his voice rumbling against her despite his more recent asinine behavior. She shook her head in disgust at herself; she _was_ an idiot. Her memory felt like it was stuck on repeat and the moment she found herself flying in his arms kept playing over and over again in her brain. Her traitorous clothes had even picked up some of his scent.

            Bilbo snarled her way to the shower and washed with unnecessary vigor. She was focusing on getting home, not some stupid barrel-chested superhero. How could any of them want someone as useless as her to stay—what the hell was she going to do with a bunch of superheroes anyway?

            Clean, hesitant, and still irritated, she peeked gingerly into the main room and saw a scene of unexpected domesticity. Two brothers—Fili and Kili—were playing a video game against Bombur and her brother; with all the screaming Bilbo couldn't tell who was winning or losing. She could see Dwalin in the kitchen sharpening something at the table while the man who’d been with Thorin when she woke up—Bawlin? Balin? something like that—bustled about making sandwiches. There were a couple of people on the porch doing some sort of meditative ritual, and a few others sitting in chairs smoking in the sun. It was all so...normal.

            It just didn’t make sense for her to be here—with Durin's League—the mysterious superheroes she'd seen on the news for the past year. They were nothing like she had imagined; strange yes, but surprisingly average if this scene was anything to go by. Bilbo stared around the room lost; she wondered if she could just hide in the bedroom until tomorrow, but someone bustled by with a polite smile and went in. Adrift, she yearned for the quiet of solitude; she had never been a people person and now she was trapped in a penthouse with fourteen of them. It was suffocating.

            Maybe she should just leave? No one seemed aware of her presence; probably she could just walk out the front door and go home—Gandalf was overreacting surely. She could dig out her wallet and find a hotel room, a nice hotel with room service; now, that was an idea that appealed. She was moving towards the door before the thought had finished—these people didn't know her. No one would even notice she was gone.

            “Bilbo might I have a word?” Gandalf's voice stopped her. She wasn't even around the couch—nothing in her movements had been suspicious, but she felt caught and chastised like he had known exactly where she was going. Where had he even come from? Forcing a polite smile she switched directions and headed his way.

            “Of course Gandalf.” He led her onto the porch and around a corner onto something like a rooftop patio. There was a _pool_.

            “Thorin Oakenshield and I have worked together for some time now,” he said. “He’s been generous, turning this penthouse it into a place of rest and safety for Durin's League.”

            “So this—all of this is his?”

            “In a manner of speaking,” Gandalf chuckled. “It is Thorin's, but it belongs to the League now too.”

            “I am so confused,” she mumbled.

            “That's why I wanted to speak to you Bilbo,” Gandalf said, pinning her with his sharp gaze. “I know you must feel like you've jumped into the deep end, but I assure you we are all here to help.”

            “But even if, even if Gollum were after me—”

            “Oh he's certainly after you,” Gandalf interjected.

            “ _Fine_ ,” Bilbo conceded. “So I can't go home. But why must I stay here? Why ask me to join? It doesn't make any sense Gandalf.”

            “It makes quite a bit of sense, actually.” Gandalf had his pipe out again; he packed it expertly despite the breeze. “You are, as a matter of fact, precisely the person I have been looking for.”

            Bilbo snorted at that.

            “I knew your grandfather Bilbo,” Gandalf said after a long inhale on his pipe. “And I knew your mother. I promised them both I would help you when they were gone.”

            “You couldn’t have known my mother,” she told him. Her mother had only come to this world a few years before Bilbo's birth and her mother's father—he wasn't even human. It was the most closely guarded secret of their family. If Gandalf had known about her mother she would have said something—all those afternoon’s watching _Gandalf’s Wizards_ together, Bilbo’s young fascination with the eccentric star of the most popular children’s television show of the decade and her mother never so much as hinted at it. For the first time Bilbo found herself suspicious of this strange old man as her childhood idolization warred with her current situation.

            But Gandalf only chucked at her assertion. “I know a great many things that would surprise you. What do you know about the Smaug Corporation?”

            His change of topic made her do a double-take. “Sm-smaug corporation? I—I don't know much of anything. They're just, well technically they're just a company I suppose. But, well, people keep linking them with those villains don't they?”

            “Indeed they do,” Gandalf said. “But I'm afraid it's more complicated than a 'company' or 'villains.' Much more unfortunately.”

            “What do I care about the Smaug Corporation?” Bilbo snapped. “What do I care about any of this? I don’t even know you and you just…you just claim to know my mother so I will trust you. Well I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you and I won’t be held here like a prisoner!”

            “Bilbo Baggins!” he thundered, his body elongating and looming over her, his voice shaking the roof. Bilbo froze—quite literally scared stiff. “People are dying out there. Worse than dying! And Smaug is the reason for it. If you leave here you will be next on his list and all hope will be lost. I am trying to help you understand that and save your life besides and if you will not at least listen because of that then perhaps you are not the person I thought you were.”

            Bilbo felt like a child, ashamed and embarrassed by his words. Of course she knew people were dying; she watched the news. She had seen the wreckage and the body count, but what was the Smaug Corporation to her? And what could she possibly do about it? She looked away, unable to meet his eyes and said nothing; she felt selfish and scared and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

            “Forgive me,” Gandalf said after a long pause, nothing but a kindly old man once again. “I did not mean to yell at you, but we are running out of time. Smaug is much more than a corporation. He is a very powerful, very evil being and you, my dear Bilbo, are the only one who can kill him.”

            Bilbo shook her head, simply unable to believe him. “Gandalf that’s just not possible. It doesn’t make any sense.”

            “I know what you are Bilbo,” Gandalf replied. “I know you’re not altogether human.”

            That threw Bilbo for a loop.

            “Yes,” Gandalf said. “I _did_ know your mother and your grandfather.”

            “How?”

            Gandalf sighed, taking a long drag off his pipe. “That is a long story. One we’ll save for another day. But do you believe me now? Do you believe I am not trying to hurt you?”

            “Why can’t you tell me now Gandalf?” Bilbo pushed.

            “Because we’re pressed for time and I must leave. But I will tell you,” he assured her. “Until then will you trust me Bilbo? Will you stay?”

            Bilbo looked out across the cityscape, everything shiny and clean from so high up. In spite of all her common sense she did trust him—it was a foolish thing to do and Bilbo called herself every insult she knew, but she did. It was time for honesty and the honest truth was that Gollum had more than scared her; she did want to go home but she also needed to believe that home was safe. Inviolable. But Bilbo couldn’t forget that slithering promise or pain. And she couldn’t deny the creeping dread that Gandalf was right. As ridiculous as it sounded, Bilbo believed if she left she probably wouldn’t survive.

            “Alright,” Bilbo conceded. “I’ll stay.”

 

            Bilbo wandered back into Thorin's bedroom. She'd been hesitant to come in here, but she needed privacy and a quiet place to think and this was the only empty room. Someone with a scruffy beard and strange facial tattoos had finally noticed how she left every place someone else entered and told her to use Thorin’s room. They had assured her it would be fine, but Bilbo had still opened the door hesitantly, waiting for that booming voice to accuse her of snooping. Thorin was still absent, however, and she couldn’t fight the need to be alone. She sat tense on the edge of the bed; it felt familiar and intrusive at once and Bilbo’s thoughts wondered back from Gandalf to Grumpy Dwarf. Why had he brought her here? Did he know who she was? What she was? But no, he couldn’t have. His disdain for her, his absolute insistence she leave made no sense if she was as important as Gandalf claimed. She could chalk his saving her up to a good deed—he was known for saving people even if he hated being called a superhero, but then why bring her back here? If he was only worried Gollum would come back for her why not leave her at a hospital? It didn’t make sense for members of Durin’s League to bring home every unconscious bystander they saved in a fight.

            Bilbo dropped her head in her hands with a groan. The more time that passed, the more questions she had—she was _not_ special. She might not be altogether human, but that wasn't _that_ unusual. She was surrounded by people who could accomplish more spectacular feats than she for goodness' sake; surely one or two of them had some unusual branches in their family tree. If Smaug was this great and terrible evil thing, how could she be the only one who could do something about it? She couldn't even run a mile.

            Bilbo Baggins was not built for saving the world.

            The door slammed open and shut and she looked up, as shocked to be caught hiding out in his bedroom as Thorin was to find her there. Embarrassment crashed in around her, leaving her feeling like a trespasser. She stood up awkwardly, dropping her gaze and moving to the side of the room waiting for him to clear the doorway.

            “I, um, sorry I was just—I needed a quiet place to think,” she said.

            “It's fine,” he said swallowing. “I—I can leave.”

            “No!” Bilbo stopped him, mortified. “It's your room! I'll go. I’m sorry.”

            “No, that’s—I understand if you’re confused. You may use the room,” he said. But he didn't move. They stood there in strained silence while he looked somewhere over her right shoulder and she kept her gaze focused on the carpet.

            “No I—I don’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll just, uh, you know.” She made a lame gesture and wished she wasn’t so obviously embarrassed. He was just so _big_. There was no way she could squeeze by him without being pressed up against him. Again. Bilbo tried to take a surreptitious deep breath, his scent filling her nose. But she hated herself for it.

            It was like he forgot he was standing in front of the door, but he moved forward instead of sideways and they bounced off each other in more embarrassment and stammered apologies. Suddenly Bilbo was caught between his freakishly broad chest and the closed closet door behind her and her senses exploded. This had to be the worst day of her life.

            “I—I'll just,” she tried, but he moved with her in that most ancient of humiliating dances and they moved side-to-side in tandem. Her face was going to burn off if this kept up. If he was still angry it wasn't like she could blame him when she'd been lurking in his bedroom uninvited.

            “Here,” he barked and wrapped his hands around her upper arms, manually moving her to one side as he stepped to the other. His sudden touch made her pulse leap, and Bilbo flashed back to being plastered against him in midair. Her breath caught and she was furious with herself.

            Stumbling over her own feet Bilbo jerked away, breaking the contact and scrambling for the door, shutting it firmly behind her. It made sense she lied to herself—the last time they'd touched had been a traumatic experience so naturally her brain would relive that sensation every time she came in contact with him. She was mollified by the simple solution to her own ridiculousness: she would simply stay as far away from Thorin Oakenshield as she could. Her entire life might have been flipped upside down in the last twenty-four hours, but that problem, at least, she could solve.

           

            Dinner turned out to be a riotous affair, though at this point Bilbo expected nothing different. She did have a chance to learn more names—she stuck close to Dwalin and Bombur. Despite their height and muscled frames she felt the most comfortable with them. It turned out nobody knew just how strong Bombur was or what it would take to penetrate her skin; she looked normal, but apparently she was nigh on invincible. That seemed like a pretty handy power to have as far as Bilbo was concerned. Dwalin, by contrast, was a weapon's expert who grew stronger and faster with a beserker rage—Bilbo couldn't have had less in common with either of them, but her anxiety eased when they sat her between them at the table. It was an unexpected but easy friendship and Bilbo was thankful for it. They, at least, didn’t seem to hate having her here.

            Gandalf was back and everyone else was kind enough but the boisterousness overwhelmed her. Food was flying, dishes were clattering—Bilbo didn't know how they had any dishes left with the way they clanked glasses together and tossed casserole dishes instead of passing. Her father would have been appalled. And they drank _a lot_ of beer, but through it all Bilbo couldn't miss how quiet Thorin was. She kept sneaking glances at him, her curiosity forcing her gaze despite her earlier resolution to stay away from him. His face fascinated her, all hard angles and sharp corners framed with black hair and a beard that only seemed to enhance his features. Every now and again Fili or Kili would draw a small half-smile from him, and Bilbo would catch a glimpse of his bright eyes sparkling with warmth instead of cold irritation. Bilbo had very nearly convinced herself Thorin couldn't be that bad; surely their earlier fight had only been a misunderstanding. And he hadn’t yelled at her in the bedroom, but she didn’t want to think about why she cared what Thorin thought of her. She was staying away from him, she reminded herself, so Bilbo focused on making it through dinner and was very happily forgotten until Fili and Kili were ordered to clear the table and Gandalf turned his attention back to her, raising his glass and calling everyone to order.

            “Our dear guest will need to visit her former residence tomorrow,” Gandalf started. “We all know this is an acceptable risk, but risk it will be nonetheless. It is my opinion Bilbo should be escorted by no fewer than five of you.”

            “Why not all of us?” one of the men Bilbo couldn't remember asked in a lightly accented voice. She thought someone had said he and his brothers were from Korea, but she couldn't remember their names or powers in the mass of introductions.

            “Because the rest of you will be completing another mission Nori,” Gandalf told him.

            Nori! That was right. Nori, Ori, and...Lori?

            “Are we finally attacking the Smaug Corporation? Is it time?” Bilbo was surprised at the eager violence in the question.

            “No Dori, that would be a foolhardy and dangerous thing to do at this stage.”

            Nori, Ori, and _Dori_ —brothers from Korea with various abilities to manipulate the weather, the earth, and magnetism respectively. Bifir, Bofur, Bombur—two brothers and a sister, each with the exact same shade of dark skin and infinite black eyes, all with varying degrees of invincibility, strength, and speed. Fili and Kili—she wasn't sure where they were from, nor could she remember what they could do, but they both stuck close to Thorin and Bilbo thought she imagined some resemblance there. Dwalin and Balin she remembered. But who was the other brother and sister—the ones on the porch earlier?

            “I'm tired of stopping bank robberies and pulling kittens out of trees Gandalf!” the sister snapped. “This was about stopping Smaug, not being famous.”

            “Attacking their headquarters would be suicide Oin,” Gandalf said. His tone brooked no argument. “Especially when half of us will be on the opposite side of town with Bilbo.”

            Gloin! That was her brother’s name. Oin and Gloin—she thought she remembered someone saying something about mind powers, but she couldn't be sure. Bilbo sat back with a satisfied smile on her face, inordinately pleased with her ability to name the League. Until she saw everyone looking at her and realized she had just shouted Gloin's name out loud.

            “I—I'm sorry,” she mumbled, meeting Gloin's questioning expression. “I was trying to remember everyone's name.” Everyone laughed lightly at that, the tension diffused until a quiet voice interrupted.

            “You mean you weren't even listening?”

            Bilbo turned, meeting Thorin's gaze and felt that same uncomfortable falling sensation when she looked at him.

            “I wasn’t sure what was my business,” she said. “And I'm quite sure we all agree you don't need my opinion for planning...heroics.”

            “You're part of this now,” Thorin bit off, “under Gandalf's request. That means company business should concern you more than daydreaming.”

            “Daydreaming?” Bilbo asked him. The words were irritating, but the way he said them; that same tone from earlier was back— _disgust_. He was disgusted. With her. Bilbo’s insides went from confused to angry in an instant; she may not have lived the thrilling live of Durin's League but that certainly didn't mean she had earned his disgust. “First of all, while I respect your position as some sort of leader you are not the boss of me. Second of all, you are absolutely right. You are clearly not a superhero. Your refusal to be civil with me has cleared that up. You are obviously some kind of rude…monster.”

            It wasn’t her best insult, but it seemed to do the trick, and Bilbo couldn’t remember the last time she had snapped at someone like that. He had saved her life and brought her into his home and she did appreciate that, but she was too old to put up with bullies; he was the one that brought her here. Gandalf was the one that made her stay. Bilbo hadn't invited herself into their home any more than she asked him to crash into her apartment and need her help. She had saved his life just as much as he saved hers and he _was_ being a monster to her. She was sick of it.

            But her comment garnered much more of a reaction than it should have; everyone froze, even Gandalf, and Thorin's sudden stillness told her she’d made him more than angry. He was furious.

            “Perhaps we should adjourn until coffee,” Gandalf said firmly. “I think I'm quite ready for my pipe.”

            Thorin stood stiffly and left the table, his mouth pressed in a thin line. Bilbo was still stuck between Dwalin and Bombur who were sharing looks they thought she wouldn't see—maybe they didn’t care if she did. It was obvious Bilbo had overstepped somehow, but she just wanted to scream at them all.

            When Bombur finally stood and left the table, Bilbo escaped outside. These people—they were all used to each other. They had lived and fought together. But Bilbo...Bilbo had been on her own since her parents passed some years back and aside from Beulah the nosy neighbor she had kept to herself. Learning their names, powers, and personalities had seemed like such an accomplishment; she had been _trying_ —trying to adjust, trying to get along, trying to fit in. But she was right all along. She didn’t belong here and she never would. Not really. Tipping her head back, Bilbo sighed into the night sky and refused to cry; the wind had kicked up and the breeze tossed her hair and dried her eyes for her. She would get through this. It was all only temporary. She would survive whatever it was Gandalf needed her to do and she would go back to the life she had cultivated.

            “We all know Thorin can be…prickly. He shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

            Bilbo jumped at the quiet voice and saw Balin moving towards her through the shadows. Tension flooded her veins, but Bilbo only saw kindness and sympathy on his face.

            “He's more sensitive than most when it comes to our safety.” Balin was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette; the pungent tobacco drifted between gusts and he offered her one, leaning on the railing beside her. Bilbo accepted it and inhaled tentatively; to her surprise it was smooth and barely flavored, and she inhaled again, letting the action soothe her.

            “Does he think I’m a threat?” Bilbo half-laughed.

            “No,” Balin said enigmatically, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t. He’s not a naturally trusting person.”

            “Why is that?” she asked after a moment. Bilbo wasn’t sure she cared why Thorin seemed to hate her. But she wasn’t sure she didn’t either.

            “Thorin grew up wealthy,” Balin answered, “ _very_ wealthy. And when he was just starting to become a man his grandfather gambled it all away.”

            “But, he has this penthouse now?”

            “Oh Thorin made it back,” Balin said bitterly. “But Thror—that's Thorin's grandfather—wasn’t around to see it.”

            “What happened?”

Balin sighed. “Thror killed himself before he could go to prison, checked into a hotel and shot himself in the head. And that might have been the end of it, but he'd gotten involved with the Smaug Corporation. He'd borrowed money—a lot of money—and I’m sure Gandalf explained why that was a bad idea. Thorin joined the army when everything went belly up. He needed a way to make money for himself and his sister without being a burden. He couldn't have been more than 18 or 19.”

            “That’s terrible,” Bilbo said. But she didn’t understand what any of it had to do with her.

            Balin paused, taking several drags while he chose his words carefully. “Thorin is sensitive to those who can’t take care of themselves.”

            “I’ve been taking care of myself for years,” she said tightly.

            “Yes, but not from Smaug,” Balin pointed out.

            “I never knew I was going to need to,” Bilbo countered.

            “And I never said Thorin’s reasons were altogether rational.”

            That shut Bilbo up.

            “He’s a good man,” Balin went on after a moment, “but he’s grown hard. I think he’s worried he can’t protect you from Smaug.”

            “So he yells at me and tells me to leave?”

            “He’s saved every member of this League one way or another,” Balin told her. “But he knows all too well how dangerous this world can be for those Smaug wants.”

            Bilbo sighed and took one last pull of smoke; none of this was an excuse but it was a reason. And she could understand fear; she could understand how fear could become its own kind of madness. “How long have you known him?”

            “I worked with his father,” Balin answered with a strange smile. “In security. Dwalin, did you know she's my niece? Well she followed Thorin into the army while I went with his father. My family has always been…gifted, I'd guess you say, when it comes to fighting. No one knew much about being special back then; Thrain, that's Thorin's father, knew I could do some unusual things, but he never asked and I never offered. But Dwalin and I aren't the only people with special skills, and none of us knew Thorin had some surprises of his own until it was too late; he hid it too well. So Thorin went in the army and Dwalin followed him, Thror was dead, and Thrain took off to Macao on a business venture. The family was scattered, everybody had to fend for themselves, and that's when Smaug made his move. His goons came for the family.

            “Thorin's a powerful fighter and he was promoted quickly—they sent he and Dwalin to Iraq, but his power couldn't help him when he got his leg blown off. I heard about it afterwards from Dwalin—she drug him out of the road before taking three bullets to the chest. I was in Macao with Thrain and by the time I saw either of them again they weren't the same. How could you be after something like that?”

            Bilbo didn't have an answer for that—it wasn't a question she’d thought about much. She thought back to Gandalf’s words earlier about all the people Smaug had killed; she knew the world did terrible things to people, but she was just starting to realize how hard she had worked to avoid it. How hard she’d worked to stay safe and isolated in her home.  

            “They got separated in recovery, each left alone and isolated with their wounds,” Balin went on. “As near as I can make out The Smaug Corporation came to Thorin claiming they needed volunteers for a super-soldier program; it wasn't real of course, but Thorin wasn't in a position to make sure they were telling him the truth. They promised him they could regenerate his body, increase his ability to heal—stuff like that—how could he turn that down? How could anyone that had just been through what he had? By the time Dwalin knew what happened it was too late. And Smaug’s people hadn’t just come for Thorin.”

            “Who else?” Bilbo whispered.

            “Somehow Smaug found out about Thorin's extra abilities, abilities that ran in the family. While they approached Thorin and sold him on the idea of rejoining his unit, getting his leg back, being a stronger, faster soldier, folks here approached his nephews, his sister Dis' kids—Fili and Kili,” Balin paused at that, swallowing around emotion. “They thought they'd landed a summer job, not a science experiment. No one knew until it was too late. The idea was to enhance the mind along with the body, to make people...easier to control. ”

            “How young were Fili and Kili?”

            Balin winced at her question and Bilbo wanted to take it back, but he went on. “The boys were—well they weren't old enough for what happened to them. Let's leave it at that. By the time Thrain and I heard what had happened it was too late.”

            Bilbo could only listen, horrified, to Balin’s story.

            “They needed people who were already special,” Balin said. “Whatever Smaug did enhanced the powers they already had—Thorin had always been a quick healer, but he couldn’t regenerate a limb before. And it—they weren't them afterwards. For awhile they did whatever they were ordered too. _Whatever_ Smaug ordered them to do.”

            That thought sat like a rock in the pit of Bilbo's stomach; to be used like that, to have your own mind turned against you—it must have been terrible. Balin’s eyes carried a haunted look as he stared out at the city, focused on nightmares long past and she shivered, suddenly ashamed of her words and herself.

            “So when I called him a monster...”

            “It was the worst thing you could have said,” Balin sighed. “They—they broke the mind control with Gandalf's help but Thorin's lived with the guilt ever since. Every time we find someone with abilities, you know—powers—we try to help. We train 'em if they need it, or leave 'em alone if they don't. But sometimes they need a place to stay—sometimes they're starving on the streets or alone and lost and Thorin never even hesitates. He just took the money, money he’d fought so hard to get back after everything, and bought this place and brought everybody home with him. The media wanted a name so we gave them one, but we never set out to be superheroes. This is about revenge—always has been. Thorin's only goal is to bring Smaug down at any cost, and he's dedicated his life to making sure what happened to him and the boys'll never happen to anyone ever again.”

            “I didn't know,” Bilbo whispered.

            “You couldn't have,” Balin said, shaking off the past and finally turning back to her. “It was just a poor choice of words. And he has been a bit rude.”

            Balin's small smile did little to soothe Bilbo's over-developed sense of guilt and she wondered how she would ever apologize to Thorin without making it worse.

            “I'll back you up if he keeps screaming at you,” Balin said with a half-smile, “but I wanted you to know—well, if you’re gonna stay with us you should know a bit about the history. I’m not saying you should let him push you around, but sometimes...I'm not sure he knows how not to be gruff anymore is what I'm saying.”

            “Thank you for telling me Balin,” Bilbo said seriously. He patted her on the back with the awkward movements of one who was ill at ease with emotion and walked around the corner towards the patio door.

            Bilbo stayed outside long after she started shivering, consumed with thoughts of a world she’d spent so long trying to ignore.


	3. Over the Hill, Goodbye to the Hill

Bilbo spent the night on the floor between Dwalin and Bombur. Bifur, Bofur, Oin and Gloin had the bunk-beds and Balin lay stretched in front of the door. The room was a strange assortment of snores, mumbling, and heavy-breathing but Bilbo adjusted to it faster than she expected. Or she was just that tired. When she woke the next day everyone else was awake and out of the room, and she wandered out into the living room to see a strange mix of bustling and zombies as those prone to mornings cooked more eggs, pancakes, and bacon than Bilbo knew you could buy in the store and everyone else huddled around mugs of coffee and tea in silent misery.

            Bilbo was somewhere in-between; she hadn’t woken to a daze, but the activity was more than her sleep-addled brain could process. Oin shoved a cup of coffee in her hands and Bilbo shuffled back towards an empty corner seat on the couch with a grateful grunt. It wasn't until she saw Dwalin laughing and pointing that she summoned words.

            “Wha?” she asked.

            “That is the most impressive bedhead we've ever seen, Love,” Dwalin told her.

            Bilbo flushed and raised a hand to smooth her hair but two things happened at once. A freshly showered Thorin Oakenshield came around the corner pulling a t-shirt over his head, and Bilbo caught her reflection in the flat screen. In no reality was Bilbo awake enough yet to deal with all those feelings before coffee.

            She froze, her eyes locked on Thorin's chest as his muscles bunched and moved; he smoothed the cotton over thick pecs, hard abs, and black hair that tapered as it disappeared under his belt and Bilbo's mouth fell open—her body feeling like someone just dropped an anvil in her gut. No one that unpleasant should be that beautiful. His cold blue eyes locked on hers as if he heard her thoughts and it was only then Bilbo remembered her hair looked like someone stuck her head in the blender before a flock of birds threw a rave in it. She flushed from forehead to sternum and Thorin cracked a half-smile at her, his amusement—even at her expense—suddenly making his face too beautiful to bear.

            Gods have mercy she was lusting after Thorin Oakenshield.

            Bilbo let out an “eep” as she bounded off the couch with all the majesty of a drunk, three-legged elephant and raced back to the bedroom. That was a realization she could have done without.

 

            By the time breakfast was done Bilbo had her hair wrestled under an elastic band and Bombur's borrowed clothes as fitted as they could be. The Company was splitting up—Oin, Gloin, Dori, Ori, Nori, Balin, and Gandalf were scouting the Smaug Corporation. Rumors cropped up of teenagers sporting new super-powers on the other side of town and Gandalf's spy had warned them Smaug Corp. might be making a move. Meanwhile Dwalin, Bombur, Bifor, Bofur, and Bilbo were headed back to her apartment. And Thorin. Bilbo tried not to groan out loud when he walked over to their group before everyone left, but she supposed it made sense. Gandalf went with one team and Thorin went with the other—just her luck.

            Bilbo thought she was adjusting gracefully until she found out they were going to fly again and Thorin was going to carry her; at that point she realized she wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't rather spend the time gnawing off her own hand. The image of a shirtless Thorin Oakenshield hadn't given her much peace since it seared into her brain a few hours ago and now she was expected to cling to the man once again—this time fully conscious and aware.

            “We need to get in and out fast.” Thorin's tone didn't leave room for argument. “Bifur carries Bofur, Dwalin runs, and Bombur leaps across rooftops. That means you're with me.”

            Bilbo tried her best not audibly groan, and she mostly succeeded until it was time for take-off. She approached Thorin tentatively, like she was afraid to spook him, but he only gave a sigh, yanked her body flush with his and launched. Instinct had Bilbo holding on to him and screaming before she buried her face in his neck. She had to remind herself she didn’t like any of it one bit.

            The flight passed uneventfully aside from Bilbo knowing entirely too much about the texture of Thorin's skin and the feel of his stubble against her cheek; when they arrived at her apartment, the hole in the wall was still without so much as plastic sheeting over it, and Bilbo told herself firmly she had no time to waste on disappointment in the maintenance staff.

            The living room was a total loss. Bilbo found one broken picture of her with her parents and brushed it off tenderly before taking a breath and heading for her bedroom. They were on a schedule, and now wasn't the time to worry about her lost belongings—it was only material. She was grateful to see no birds had overrun things in the twenty-four hours since she literally fell out of this place; it was too bulky for Thorin to carry her and a giant suitcase, but he said she could stuff her backpack as full as she wanted. Her first stop was the underwear drawer.

            She tried for two-by-two, but jeans were bulky and she figured she would need more t-shirts than pants. In the end she sacrificed the second pair of jeans for her favorite series of books and her journal—she could buy toiletries but she couldn't shake the feeling of loss as she walked back into the living room. She was never coming back here. Ever. A lifetime's worth of memories in pictures, furniture, and knick-knacks would just be...gone. Everyone was silent as Bilbo took one last look around and swiped her eyes surreptitiously; this was her _life_ dammit—and now it was over. Wherever she went from here, whatever happened she would never live in the Shire Apartments again.

            Pressing her lips together Bilbo swallowed the emotions like a pro, pulled her arms through the straps of the backpack and turned around; Thorin was watching her with an enigmatic expression, but he hadn't yelled at her to hurry up. She was grateful for that.

            “I'm ready.” It was a lie, but the truth wasn't an option. It was time. She walked three steps back to Thorin when something slammed into her chest and drove her into the back wall.

            Everything went black for a second—Bilbo fought to open her eyes but the ringing in her ears deafened her. Nausea swelled as the room blurred and shifted, but she didn't think anything was broken. She pushed back to her feet as the world swirled and tilted, and Bilbo swallowed convulsively waiting for her eyes to focus. It didn't help. Gollum had Thorin in a choke hold but his huge pale eyes were locked on her.

            She couldn't see where the others were—Bilbo thought she could hear fighting outside, but her head felt wrapped in plastic and she couldn't be sure. She pushed forward, stumbling but gaining strength as she moved, charging straight into the fray.

            “Bilbo, no!” Thorin shouted but she ignored him. She tackled the two of them, driving into their sides and knocking Gollum off him. The creature was fast and strong—much faster and stronger than she anticipated and he rolled with her hit, getting his feet under him and jumping back straight onto her. She fell backwards, head bouncing off the rubble and she felt his hands close on her neck, pulling her up towards his dripping mouth.

            “We hates it,” he hissed at her, his fangs dripping onto her cheek. “But the master wants it so we brings it to him!”

            Bilbo was having a hard time focusing through the clammy hands cutting off her circulation and the way Gollum kept spitting on her, but she was not letting him take her anywhere. Of that she was sure. Reaching up she grabbed his arms and focused on driving her power directly into his leathery body. He hissed and jumped back, releasing her—Thorin was up but before he reached her a second monster came through the hole in the wall, landing on top of him. Bilbo froze in fear, unable to move as her brain shut down. A spider straight out of her nightmares had jumped on him and it was snapping at his face as its giant legs skittered and clacked on the rocks.

            Fighting through the fear she raised her arms, ready to blast the thing when Gollum landed on her back, his claws raking down her side. Bilbo screamed and jerked, trying to shake him off, but his legs were wrapped around her and his other hand buried in her hair—talon fingers digging into her skull. She lost sight of Thorin and the spider as she spun, fighting to stay cognizant through panic and pain. She couldn't start flailing—she had to keep her head. But Gollum was hissing and grabbing, his mouth at her neck and hands all over her body trying to subdue her. Bilbo threw her body back against the wall, small satisfaction coming with his scream. Her every urge was to pull at his hands, his feet, to try and shield herself against him, but instead she reached up—fighting her own instincts—and latched onto his head. Then she _unleashed_.

            She was blinded as a pale blue light suffused the room, blocking everything out for a second except Gollum's pained scream and then he was gone, and Bilbo dropped to her hands and knees choking on the gorge in her throat and fighting to breathe; she couldn't stop—she had to get back up and keep fighting but she couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't seem to focus. Something picked her up and she had one second to see the clicking pincers of the spider inches from her face before she was being hurled out of the hole. She was falling. Again. Bilbo was getting really tired of falling out of her own damned apartment.

            There was no Thorin this time—she saw him launch himself out after her as she fell backwards towards the cement below, but the spider followed landing on his back and drove him into the building's facade, his head forced down under one leg against the concrete. Bilbo had one brief moment to wonder if maybe this was the end after all—she was a little surprised she wasn't more scared—when something caught her, threw her back up in the air, and then caught her again jerking her to a halt. She felt like her arms were nearly ripped out of their sockets, but as the world straightened out she realized she was being held ten feet above the ground by two hulking creatures.

            And she was fresh out of juice.

            The creatures let out a roar that shook the surrounding buildings and started to run, the one on the left releasing Bilbo so suddenly she swung all the way level with the right one's face. It was a picture Bilbo could have done without; its mangled face was a study in mucus and nightmares. It put her on its shoulder and held her there, pinned between its massive hand and disgusting skin as its giant legs ate up the city streets. She could see the rest of the company watching, horror on their faces but outnumbered and overwhelmed by more spiders. They couldn't get to her—nobody was going to save her.

            Sick, bleeding, and terrified Bilbo fought for consciousness. She didn't know where these monsters were taking her or what they had in store, but she knew it couldn't end well. She had to stay conscious, she had to sting these monsters enough to let her go, but she couldn't catch her breath, the jostling underneath and the heavy hand holding her down made it hard to inhale. She reached inside herself, trying to access the power she had foolishly ignored most of her life—the abilities she despised for making her different, and now desperately needed to survive. It was empty, out of reach and Bilbo was lost in desperation. Thorin was nearly out of sight, she could just make out the blood streaming down his face and then Bofur flew through the air, slamming into a wall and slid down unmoving. She was powerless, unable to help after they had all risked their lives so she could get some _clothes._ Bilbo beat at the monster, gasping through the pain with rage and futility.

            Suddenly something slammed into the side of the monster carrying her, a roaring blur that drove it off-balance and Bilbo felt herself tumbling out of its grasp; she pancaked hard on the ground but forced herself to scurry out from underneath pounding footsteps on hands and knees still gasping for breath. And when she turned around she saw Dwalin—beautiful, amazing Dwalin—fighting both monsters at once. The creatures were bigger but slower and Dwalin gave a deep-throated roar, spinning and ducking, wielding dual weapons—they looked like axes made out of...energy. Bilbo blinked again, unsure if she was hallucinating but, no, Dwalin's mohawk had most definitely transformed into green flames.

            Rage and viciousness could only get her so far, though, and Dwalin took a punch to the face as she hamstrung one monster and drove her second axe into the arm of the other. Bilbo pushed herself up, but fell backwards gasping at the pain in her side—she had never felt more useless. Just then a car flew through the air and smashed into the head of the last remaining creature. Bombur charged, a wrecking ball with a battle cry, and jumped, driving her head right into the underside of the creature's jaw. A sickening crack exploded in the air as bone and spittle flew out of its mouth, and Dwalin moved in, axes flashing, disemboweling it before it could recover from Bombur's attack. It fell backwards with a thud and its body changed, blood, bone and skin hardening and petrifying in seconds.

            A gratitude unlike anything she'd felt in her life brought tears to her eyes as the two women turned and raced towards her, but it was Thorin that landed next to her and started shaking her, asking if she was okay. If Bilbo could have drawn breath she would have told him how much that hurt. Instead she threw up on his shoes and passed out.


	4. The Guide

Bilbo was in and out of consciousness as Thorin raced her back to the penthouse. Her side was on fire and it felt like the monster was still holding down her chest—the need to just _breathe_ was overwhelming. She started to panic, and her chest constricted even more as her hands scrabbled for Thorin's attention. _I'm dying_ she wanted to scream at him. _Can't you see I'm dying?! Do something!_

            “Just hold on,” he said tightly. “Hold on—we're almost there.”

            He looked down at her then, his blue eyes anything but cold in that moment and she realized he did know—he knew all too well and it terrified him. That made the panic worse.

            She wanted to scream at him for scaring her, but she sucked in air on instinct and suddenly her throat was full of blood, choking her. Gods, she didn't know anyone could feel like this and still be alive. Thorin tightened his grip, pulling her more snugly across his chest and switched directions abruptly, his feet touching down a little too roughly. But then he was running, running into the penthouse covered in her blood and she could hear him calling for Gandalf.

            She watched the ceiling above her head move, felt the commotion more than heard it and then she was in his bedroom again—nowhere else in this place smelled exactly like it. Thorin settled her on the bed and she was irrationally sorry for bleeding all over his sheets, but then someone was ripping her shirt off and even through the agony she felt embarrassment. It was forgotten almost immediately, though; her ribs were on _fire_.

            “Jesus Christ,” someone hissed.

            “Where's Gandalf?”

            “He said he had an errand to run, he's not picking up his phone.”

            “Well tell Oin to contact him!” That one was Thorin she thought. It was a strange time to become fond of how he yelled. Maybe throwing up on someone brought people together.

            “I can't, Thorin—you know he can shut me out.”

            “God _dammit!”_

“She's dying Thorin—Gollum poisoned her and she's rattling when she breathes.”

            The cursing got more violent.

            “We need to call him.”

            “ _No_.”

            “Dammit, no one else can save her!”

            “We don't need his help!”

            “Gloin make the call.”

            “Gloin don—”

            Something slammed into a wall next to the bed. Bilbo's head lolled over and she saw Balin pinning Thorin with one muscled forearm around the spots in her eyes.

            “We are not going to let this woman die because you're too stubborn and selfish to ask for help,” Balin growled in his face.

            Thorin stared back for a long moment, his hands balled at his sides, his body unnaturally still. He turned his head and met Bilbo's gaze—something flashed across his expression, an emotion Bilbo couldn't read and then he looked away, back at Balin.

            “Fine.”

            Balin dropped him—Bilbo could have sworn the older man was bigger than normal, but then he was kneeling next to her and it was all she could do to stay conscious.

            “Helps on the way lass,” he said gently. “But we need to stop that poison. We have something that will neutralize it.”

            Bilbo wanted to scream at him to do it, but all that came out was a groan.

            “It will hurt,” he went on. “A lot.”

            Hurt? More than it already did? And what choice did she have even if it did. She hoped her nod came through, but she had started shaking, the muscles in her back and abdomen clenching and releasing—it tore a wail from her lips that made everyone in the room wince except Thorin who dropped to his knees next to her, pushing Balin out of the way.

            His large calloused hand came up, gently stroking the hair back from her forehead and Bilbo felt movement next to him as something splashed into a bowl.

            “I'll do it,” Thorin told them. “It should be me.”

            He didn't say anything else to her, but she felt his hands move, releasing her forehead and holding her arm away from her side. The fire was spreading, it felt like her skin was being scrapped off her skeleton, every moment agony while the twitching muscles made stillness impossible. Bilbo didn't know if she wanted to survive or die—she just wanted it to stop.

            “Hold her.”

            Hands came down, two pinning her right arm out of the way and shoulder while several more found spots along her legs and left side. She felt something cool brush across her burning ribs again and again. For a second nothing happened. Then Bilbo started screaming.

            She wasn't rational anymore, couldn't be rational. If it had hurt before this was a thousand, a million times worse. It burned but it was a cold burn—like someone was shoving ice _under_ her skin. The hands were relentless, she couldn't move, couldn't thrash, but nothing covered her mouth and somehow, even though she still felt like she was suffocating, she had the breath to scream. By the time it passed Bilbo didn't know if it had been a second or an eternity—time must have stopped and her screams tapered off into whimpers as she waited for the pain to start again, not trusting this momentary respite. When her heartbeat finally slowed she felt the hands move away and she blinked through tears to see someone new kneeling next to her.

            “I'm going to help you,” he whispered, one hand reaching over and pulling her hand across her body, while the other settled against the crown of her head.

            The pain started to numb out and Bilbo held her breath waiting for it come back, but he urged her to relax and she inhaled tentatively, wary of the weight that had been on her chest. Her lungs expanded and Bilbo's eyes widened as they didn't hurt; suddenly she sucked in a full, deep breath—desperately needed air filling her lungs. A strange light filled the room—it vacillated between greens and blues and Bilbo realized it was coming from her, no, the man who was healing her. It seemed concentrated between his hands and radiated outward to the rest of her body where it sunk into the mattress below. Bilbo had never felt so thankful in her life, not to be alive but just not to hurt. As the last vestiges of agony were chased away by drowsiness, a sense of peace settled heavily on her—it seemed rude to go to sleep in front of everyone, but surely they wouldn't blame her. No bed had ever felt so comfortable.

            “Good,” a gentle voice said above her. “Sleep little one.”

            She did.

 

            Bilbo didn't know how long she slept, but she dreamt of music and woods—she was somewhere peaceful and beautiful where the tinkling laughter of friends she'd never met surrounded her. The dream faded and she was sorry, so sorry to leave that happy place and she opened her eyes suspiciously, tensed for pain. When nothing felt abnormal she sat up, stiff but okay. She could breathe. She could move. She wore nothing but Bombur's sports bra and her underwear, both of which were blood stained, but the sheets were clean.

            Her body looked terrible, though, even if it was mostly healed. Giant red welts crisscrossed her right side, tender to the touch. Her stomach and thighs were covered in bruises she guessed were mirrored on her back. Looking down at herself, Bilbo felt her pulse speed up again—her brain seemed stuck between blocking the memory completely, and raw instinctive terror the pain would come back. She had barely survived. She had barely survived, and if Dwalin and Bombur hadn't saved her she—she wasn't going to think about that right now. She was okay; she was here and she would live. Something fierce swirled inside her then, some part of her mother Bilbo had tried so long to suppress. She could never go home again, but worse than that Bilbo was suddenly terrified she didn't _want_ to go home again. She ignored it as soon as she felt it, one more useless emotion of many; the only thing that mattered right now, the only thing she allowed to matter, was the need to protect herself. She wasn't sure she believed Gandalf when he claimed she was the only who could bring down Smaug, but she knew she had power, power she had inherited from her mother that needed to be mastered.

            Images of Bifur and Bofur being tossed through the air, blood streaming down Thorin's face, and Bombur being smashed into the pavement suddenly overwhelmed her—they had all risked their lives for her, risked their lives so she could rescue one backpack worth of _stuff_ from her former life. Her clothes hardly seemed worth it under those circumstances. Her life hardly seemed worth it. But learning to use her powers, that was one thing she could do. That was one thing she could contribute.

            Her decision to fight brought no universal sign or chorus of angels—the world took no notice of her at all. But Bilbo felt...different, as if she just merged on a highway with no exits. She was committed to this now.

            A shower was her first order of business, but standing up was an unexpected adventure; her legs were wobbly and she spent a long moment just standing. Looking around the room she didn't see clothes laid out and based on the sounds coming through the door she guessed the others were between her and the shower she desperately craved. Thorin's room had a master bath set off, but the idea of using his shower seemed too intimate. She had just settled on rifling through his drawers for a shirt, when the door opened and Thorin came in. He held her backpack in his hand, and his eyes widened as he caught her making like a tree, mostly naked, beside his bed.

            Her first impulse was to cover herself, but she was too unsteady on her feet and the sudden movement left her rocking awkwardly. Thorin dropped the backpack and reached out to steady her, his hands grabbing her arms. Mortified Bilbo flailed, her body trying to go three different directions at once; all she managed was to smack him in the face and tangle her foot in his. They tipped and her generous weight took over, pulling them both backwards off-balance. All of Bilbo's higher brain functions shut down as she slammed back onto the bed, this time with a very big, very warm Thorin Oakenshield on top of her. A soft scream pushed out, but whether it was from pain or pure unadulterated embarrassment she couldn't know. He immediately tried to pull away, but her instincts coalesced from fight or flight into freeze—as if not moving would make the whole debacle unhappen.

            Her arms and legs wrapped around him and she yelled, “No!”

            He stilled immediately, his body stiff and pushing Bilbo into the mattress and her brain finally caught up with itself; she was suddenly painfully aware of how that must have sounded. His weight had settled between her legs and Bilbo could feel the rough texture of his jeans through the thin cotton that covered her. He was...they were...she wanted to die all over again. She buried her face in his neck, the movement unexpectedly natural after all the flying, but she didn't let go. She couldn't let go. She would never be able to look him in the eye again. He didn't so much as twitch, letting her cling to him as he tried to keep from squashing her.

            Bilbo had every intention of explaining herself, but she didn't have a solution for letting him go without giving him another long look at her over-exposed body. Every second that passed in silence made the whole thing that much more unbearable.

            And _mercy_ he smelled good.

            “Bilbo,” he finally said quietly. His voice gruffer than normal, or maybe it just seemed that way since she could feel it vibrating against her bare ribs.

            “I'm not wearing clothes,” she whispered against his skin. She meant it as an explanation but it came out breathy, her embarrassment turning the explanation into some kind of whispered promise. She was going to throw herself off the balcony. That was the only possible solution at this point.

            He didn't try to pull away, nor did he say anything else. But she knew. Being held by her was probably suffocating him, and she was grateful he hadn't started yelling at her.

            “I—I'm sorry,” she tried again. “But I just—I should have wrapped the sheet around me, I know, but—”

            “Bilbo.” He said her name softly but firmly, his breath tickling the skin of her neck. She thought she could feel his lips, moving against her skin and it felt—Bilbo didn't want to think about how it felt. He must hate this.

            “I'm sorry,” she apologized again, trying to make herself let him go. “Wha—what if you closed your eyes?”

            “What?” he choked, a puff of breath hitting right behind her ear.

            “Close your eyes a—and I'll, uh, grab the sheet.” Any second he was going to lose his temper, but she was not letting him have a long lingering look at her stained and dirty underpants. Even worse, hugging him like this—clinging to him if she was honest—was the first _good_ feeling she'd had since he crashed through her wall, which didn't make any sense. It wasn't like they got along—she didn't even like the man. Nor did he like her, she reminded herself sternly; she could feel it in the tense muscles pressed against her. Thorin Oakenshield was not a man who appreciated being smothered by a ridiculous woman apparently suffering a mid-life crisis in his bedroom.

            “Okay,” she finally said, forcing her arms to unwind and release him. “You close your eyes and just, well—sit up and I'll wrap a blanket around myself. Or something.”

            He nodded his consent, his stubble scratching against her neck and Bilbo clamped her mouth shut over a gasp. Then he was sitting up, his body weight shifting and pressing as he pushed himself up. His jeans felt abrasive and the movement had him sliding between her legs, but true to his word his eyes were screwed shut. There was a sense of emptiness when his weight disappeared and Bilbo shivered, scrambling to get off the bed. She was a riot of emotions, confusing, irritating emotions, and she focused on the irritation, using it as an anchor point to shove everything else aside; she didn't like being touched by him and she certainly didn't _want_ to be touched by him. They weren't the sort of friends that touched each other—they weren't friends at all. She was sure this was all a natural effect of a severely traumatic experience. Her body sought solace it was still alive was all; she would have reacted the same way to anyone else that came into the room.

            If that was a lie, it was one she was perfectly content to live with.

            She tugged on the sheet, pulling it free and wrapped it around herself as many times as she could, covering every last inch of skin.

            “I'm decent,” Bilbo told him. Her voiced sounded strange to her ears, raspier. And she couldn't seem to get her heartbeat under control. Honestly, she scolded herself. You'd think she had a crush on Thorin Oakenshield and that was just plain crazy. He stood up from the bed at her declaration, his eyes trained on the ground and he shoved his hands awkwardly into the front pockets of his jeans.

            “I brought your backpack,” he said brusquely.

            “Thank you.” Their unspoken truce was ending—she could feel it as the air cooled between them. Neither looked at the other, but when he brushed by her to get to the door she suddenly remembered—he'd been hurt in the fight too.

            “Are you okay?” she blurted.

            “What?”

            “Are you okay?” He certainly seemed okay, but she was staring at his face and a vivid memory of him being slammed into the asphalt overlay her vision. “You—earlier. You were bleeding. Earlier.” She was as eloquent as a baboon.

            “I'm fine,” he shrugged, reaching one hand for the door knob. “I heal fast.”

            “Oh. Right.” It was an undeniably lame exchange, but as he let himself out Bilbo counted it as a victory. They managed a conversation without yelling at each other. Surely that meant progress, stilted though it may have been. If she was going to stay they needed to be able to tolerate each other. She mindlessly rubbed her neck where her skin still tingled from his stubble as her thoughts churned into overdrive. She didn't allow herself to think about why she was doing it.

            The shower was pure magic, and she was almost herself again when she finally joined the throng in the living room. She left her backpack next to the sleeping bag that had defaulted to her, and reveled in the glory of clean underwear.

            Fili and Kili were playing video games again with Oin and Gloin while Balin, Dwalin, and Bombur heckled from the couches. Bifur, Bofur, Nori, Ori, and Dori were all in the kitchen working on various stages of dinner and Bilbo let herself out onto the porch. Gandalf was talking to a strange man she didn't know, but when he saw her, he smiled and waved her over, inviting her to join their conversation.

            “Where's Thorin?” she asked with perfectly reasonable and in no way inappropriate curiosity.

            “It can be hard to keep track of our fearless leader,” Gandalf mused, not answering the question Bilbo noticed. She shifted uncomfortably as he locked his clear gray eyes on her—Gandalf always seemed to see more than she wished. “Please allow me to introduce Master Elrond, you're savior.”

            Bilbo shook Elrond's hand, grateful for the change of subject; he was a tall man, similar to Gandalf in height if a little broader in the shoulder. His clothing and shaved head made Bilbo think of monks, but his dress was clearly unique. He was a handsome man and his gaze was heavy—almost as if he looked out at her from eyes incalculably old. It was disconcerting.

            “Elrond is a master healer and without him, I'm afraid you would be quite dead right now,” Gandalf said lightly. Bilbo was sure it was true, but hearing it said out loud still made her stomach flip.

            “Thank you,” she said sincerely. It was nice not to be dead.

            “You are a unique being Bilbo Baggins,” Elrond replied. “It was my pleasure to save your life.”

            Bilbo wasn't sure how to respond to that. “I—uh, that is, how do you know Durin's League?”

            “Being the only healer in the city has allowed me to know many.” Bilbo made a sound of agreement as she nodded. The entirety of his attention was focused on her when he spoke, and she felt exposed under his gaze. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was...different.

            “I believe Master Elrond might be just the person to help you with your abilities,” Gandalf told her. He said it lightly as if speaking of the weather, but Bilbo responded with shocked enthusiasm.

            “Really?” she said excitedly. “What do you think will happen? Will I be stronger? Able to use it longer?”

            “It will depend I'm sure,” Gandalf told her enigmatically, “on which ability you choose to train.” His gaze was focused on some birds flying overhead, but Bilbo felt chastised regardless. So Gandalf knew then, knew she could do more than sting. She supposed that didn't surprise her.

            “I wonder if I might take your hand,” Elrond asked her. “I can understand certain things about a person when I touch them, and it would help me best plan your training.”

            “I, uh, sure,” she agreed. “But didn't you already touch me?”

            “You were in great pain when I healed you,” he said. “It overwhelmed everything else as it tends to do.”

            “Oh.” His words made sense, but she felt like there was more meaning buried there. At a nod from Gandalf she offered her hand and Elrond took it between both of his.

            His grip was warm and dry, and suddenly the roof fell away. She felt disconnected from her body, as if her soul had separated itself and yet the scenery changed with no sense of movement. The only clear image was Elrond himself, standing in front of her, but his appearance had changed. He seemed less...human—his eyes were bigger, more turned up at the edges and his skin was—if Bilbo didn't know better she would say it was shining slightly, almost luminescent. But it was his ears that were the most strange; they had elongated into tiny points at the top and his pupils were larger, making his eyes look fathomless and black. His presence was soothing, though, like being wrapped in a warm hug and Bilbo found herself without fear—it was almost like the world had been peeled away to reveal something more pure underneath.

            “Tell me about your mother,” Elrond asked, the question conjuring images before Bilbo's eyes.

            “She—she loved to laugh,” Bilbo answered. “She and my father loved each other very much.” Bilbo could remember their laughter now, she was watching them again—her father reading the paper in his favorite chair as her mother bustled around completing tasks. Her mother leaned over, placing a kiss atop her father's head and he smiled up at her, the scene reminiscent of the easy love they shared. But then the pain of their deaths was suddenly there—inevitable though death must be she found she couldn't remember them here without missing them. The sound of her mother's laughter and her father's solid steadiness an unquestioned stability that had grounded Bilbo's life.

            “Where did your mother come from,” Elrond asked, drawing her attention back to him.

            “I—I'm not sure,” Bilbo answered. She was seeing herself now, a much younger her who had just blown a hole in the wall with her powers for the first time.

            “She's taking after you,” her father chuckled. “You'll need to teach her how to control it.”

            “Don't let the neighbors see!” her grandmother had said, appalled. Her father's mother had believed in an orderly, predictable life. “They'll take her away and we'll never see it again.” Those thoughtless words had given Bilbo nightmares for weeks.

            “Don't cry Bilbo,” her mother had said gently, hugging the young horrified child. “You're special is all.”

            “I don't want to be special!” Bilbo had cried. “I want to be normal.”

            “She gets that from your side,” her mother had teased her father.

            Bilbo thought she had forgotten this pain.

            Elrond released her hand and Bilbo was back, standing on the roof once again. Her cheeks were cold and she reached up, surprised to find them wet. She had been crying, she realized—missing her parents coalesced into solid weight on her chest. She hadn't missed them like this since they died.

            “We always miss our loved ones,” Elrond told her. “That is not a pain that heals, merely one we learn to live with.”

            Bilbo nodded, wiping her eyes and struggling to get herself back under control.

            “You were right Gandalf,” Elrond said, turning his attention away from her. “She is the one we were looking for.”

            “What?” Bilbo asked, looking between them. “Looking for?

            “Your parents were unique people, Bilbo Baggins, and they created a special child in you,” Gandalf said. “It is as I said before—you are the only one who can destroy Smaug.”

            “How is that possible?” Bilbo pressed, desperate for answers. “How am I different from anyone else here? What can I possibly do that they can't?”

            “It will reveal itself when the time comes,” Gandalf dodged. “In the meantime I do believe supper is ready.”

            “Gandalf—” she pushed.

            “I can tell you nothing else,” he cut her off sternly. “Your destiny is your own to discover—I merely see the possibilities.”

            “We will begin training tomorrow,” Elrond told her and then he and Gandalf walked away, heading back inside.

            Bilbo huffed in irritation. They had to be the two least helpful people she had ever known.


	5. Smaug the Terrible

Bilbo stood on the roof and tried to maintain the thread of energy between her and the empty aluminum can twenty feet away. Her “training” was going terribly. As far as she could tell Elrond hadn't actually taught her anything. In the five days since they started, he only asked her to maintain a connective tissue of energy between herself and whatever piece of garbage he picked for that day until she couldn't hold it any longer. Then he went and meditated in a corner. Bilbo's head never stopped throbbing and every time her concentration slipped she blew another hole in the building.

            By the third day her temper snapped and when she demanded he actually _teach_ her something Elrond had merely cocked and eyebrow and said, “I can no more teach you to be you, Bilbo Baggins, than I could teach a fish to swim.”

            Then he'd resumed his meditation. Bilbo had half a mind to blast the bastard just to see what would happen.

            She was, admittedly, getting better at holding the string of energy; she had managed not to blow anything up in the last five hours and accessing the power seemed to come more easily. She also didn't tire as quickly, though she doubted that would carry over if she ever actually fought anything. Gandalf would wander out every few hours and smoke his pipe silently watching her. Thorin seemed to have disappeared completely since the encounter in the bedroom. Not that she noticed. She absolutely positively did not ever notice he'd been peculiarly absent since the incident in his bedroom. She never looked for him at meals or wondered if she would see him come in late when she found herself staying up late, reading in the living room. By herself. Bilbo's concentration slipped and a flower pot exploded. Elrond didn't even cock an eyebrow and Bilbo resumed the string with a silent curse, refusing to not think about how she wasn't thinking about Thorin anymore. He was such a completely ridiculous man. Why act so frantic to save her? Why be so patient when she'd made a complete idiot of herself in his bedroom? He was an irritating, confusing, stubborn—

            “I believe you are ready for the next step,” Elrond said. “You may stop.”

            Bilbo released the strand gratefully, pushing her thoughts of Thorin away with a frustrated breath. She was sweating but not exhausted. That was something at least.

            “Now, I want you to draw a smiley face on the can,” Elrond said.

            “What.”

            “Do you not understand?”

            “A smiley-face?” Bilbo asked. “Seriously?”

            “You asked for my help,” Elrond pointed out. “You're welcome to do this on your own.”

            “No,” Bilbo stopped him. “No, it's fine. Okay. A smiley-face.”

            Draw a smiley-face he said. You're the only one who can defeat Smaug he said. Oh what grand adventure she was having.

            She focused on the can and aimed, releasing just a smidgen of energy and...

            The can exploded like a grenade.

            “Good,” Elrond said. “Please set up another can and practice.”

            Bilbo wanted to throw herself off the roof.

            By the time the sun went down she was covered in sweat, nursing a throbbing headache, and exhausted. She had managed one eye, but every time she tried the second the can exploded or ended up sliced in half. Bilbo didn't know if she had ever felt more useless.

            Elrond had disappeared by the time she came out of the shower; Dwalin had left food for Bilbo in the fridge as had become habit, and she stood over the sink eating cold fried chicken with wet hair still dripping down her back. When Thorin walked in Bilbo froze with a chicken leg shoved in her mouth.

            He drew up short, clearly as surprised to find her dripping chicken grease over his sink as she was to be discovered. With complete indifference he dismissed her with a curt nod and turned toward the fridge. Bilbo yanked the chicken out of her mouth and wiped her face frantically but before she could say so much as “hello” he walked out, carrying a casserole dish with him. He didn't look back, and Bilbo told herself the stinging in her chest was only heartburn.

            She ate another chicken leg in revenge—they always left food in case Thorin showed up, but Bilbo wasn't feeling all that magnanimous any more. He could just eat whatever he found in that casserole dish and be happy with it. She threw the legs in the trash and washed her hands—her bad mood worse. It wasn't like she didn't know he didn't like her, but she thought—stupid her, she thought something had changed after he rushed to save her life. But it hadn't been about her at all, had it? Fighting to keep them all alive was simply what he did; there were no greater emotions at play. Bilbo was just one more solider to him—a solider that annoyed him apparently—and she told herself that's how it should be. She absolutely positively did not care.

            But she pulled up short at her name, his voice drifting out of his open bedroom door.

            “All she does is blow holes in my walls,” Thorin told someone. “I don't need another person with power they can't control—my hands are already full with Fili and Kili.”

            “Gandalf seems to think she's important somehow,” someone replied—Balin probably. “He says we need her.”

            “We don't need anybody,” Thorin bit off. “And certainly not some out of shape schoolmarm who can't even protect herself.”

            Bilbo went rigid. That...stung.

            “Don't be angry at the lass because she's working with Elrond,” Balin said. “She doesn't deserve that.”

            Bilbo desperately didn't want to listen to anymore, but it was quiet and the words kept coming. It was late and everyone else was in bed or outside enjoying the night air. In a few hours she would have a clear shot for the door and she suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here—anywhere but listening to what Thorin thought of her. She couldn't go home, but she could go somewhere else—to Elrond maybe. She knew intuitively Elrond wouldn't turn her away and his must be the second safest place after the penthouse. God she was an idiot; she and Thorin hated each other. How could she have forgotten that? They were complete opposites and she had been thinking, what, that maybe he had missed her while he was gone? Preposterous. A strange emotion tightened in Bilbo's chest and she realized she definitely did not hate him, hadn't hated him since he'd seemed so concerned over her life after the fight at her apartment. No, she didn't hate him—he just hated her.

            What terrible timing for that particular realization.

            She bolted out of the kitchen making a run for her bedroom, but she only made it two steps before she ran straight into solid muscle. Looking up she saw Thorin's stormy expression and she was suddenly petrified she was going to cry. Right here in his kitchen. What a ridiculous response—this wasn't the first time she'd been called names. She had never cared what others thought of her, but knowing what _he_ thought of her was painful. She was as unprepared for how much she cared about him as she was for his opinion of her.

            “Ex—excuse me,” she said, looking at the floor.

            Thorin didn't move for a moment, but he didn't say anything either. He had to know she'd heard him, but she guessed he didn’t care. When he finally stepped to the side, she shuffled past him, trying to keep herself from literally running away. She made it to the safety of her sleeping bag with the door shut solidly behind her when hurt morphed to fury. The man was a miserable curmudgeon bent on revenge. What exactly had she expected? She heard one sad story from Balin, Thorin showed her a momentary kindness and she built up a whole fantasy in her head—she was  embarrassed to find she had become so impractical. She didn't belong with these people. She wasn't special. And no matter what Gandalf said, she absolutely was not integral to their mission. She had simply gone too long by herself and Thorin was a good looking man; there was no denying that. She was miserable, lonely, and out of her depth; her crush was nothing more than a byproduct of her current situation and Bilbo recognized that. She needed space and time away from them and she was sure Elrond could provide that.

            She rolled over as the last few people filed in for the night, thankful Balin didn't try to speak with her. She waited for their breathing to even out, the gentle snores covering her movement as she stood up and grabbed her backpack. Stepping carefully over Balin she eased the door open and walked out into the hall. It felt like a betrayal to leave them all like this—her growing friendship with Dwalin and Bombur, the unfinished video game she'd started with Fili and Kili, the easy camaraderie when they all squeezed around that ridiculously small kitchen table. It had felt good to be around people again—people she cared about. Bilbo hadn't realized how lonely she had become until these crazy superheroes had swept her away from her life. But she didn't belong here. Eventually they would go after Smaug and no matter how hard she trained, she would only ever be a liability.

            She stopped, watching the shifting shadows on the living room floor and told herself this was for the best. The truly heroic thing to do was leave. She paused then, distracted by the shadows; she wondered if someone was still awake, moving around outside on the porch. She could have sworn those were the shapes of people, backlit by the lights of the city—

            Bilbo had exactly half a second to scream a warning. She didn't waste it.

            “WAKE UP!” Then the world exploded.

            Bodies covered in black masks and Kevlar broke through the patio doors, the windows, and the door—glass shattered, flying in front of their feet like daggers and Bilbo felt some of it slice across her skin as she threw her arms up in front of her head and turned away for cover. She turned back immediately, backpack dropping forgotten by her feet and energy flying from her hands in short bursts knocking away guns, slamming into masked faces, and pounding into chests.

            Sounds erupted as members of the company jumped up from beds and sleeping bags, transferring from sleep to survival in an instant. A body burst through the drywall of one bedroom and Bombur charged out after it. Bilbo could see the tell-tale glow of Dwalin's energy leaking out as she fought around the corner. She could smell burning ozone and that meant Kili was fighting with lightning bolts while Fili appeared and disappeared in a blur using his super-speed to attack and deflect.

            They were hampered by the close quarters, something the attackers seemed to know. More and more poured in, guns, tasers, and powers of their own leading the way—Bifur couldn't use his whirlwind attack without risking the head of friend and foe alike, and Bofur couldn't pull enough water from the faucets to be of any help. Oin flew across the room, slamming into the opposite wall and slid down in a broken lump—there went their telepath.

            Still Bilbo kept firing, determined to help, focusing on maintaining a slow and steady release of power so she didn't burn herself out at once. She heard someone cry out in the bedrooms and the lightning bolts fizzled abruptly, then she watched in horror as Fili clothes-lined himself on a wire they had strung across the living room while everyone was distracted by the chaos—it was like they knew exactly what powers everyone had and how to neutralize them. Bombur was on the porch, surrounded by too many to count and she charged, ready to plow through the tightening circle. But they opened up at the last second and Bilbo felt a scream freeze in her throat as Bombur ran right off the roof—her unchecked momentum too much to stop. Bombur was invincible she told herself, it wouldn't kill her. It _couldn't_ kill her. It felt like a prayer more than a truth. But there was no time to stop and worry; a roar from the side shook the walls and Thorin finally appeared, buried under a mass of bodies drilling tasers into his neck, trying to get his hands and feet tied. Her friends were losing—Bilbo could feel it. There were too many and they'd already lost people. Still the onslaught didn't stop.

            She kept firing, trying to knock a few off Thorin when one of them drove a dagger into his spine. Bilbo couldn't hold back the scream as his legs collapsed underneath him like jelly. Then her body seized in agony and Bilbo felt the world drop away.

 

            She woke up gradually, pain bringing her around to consciousness. Her mouth was dry, her throat and tongue sandpaper, and her throbbing pulse felt like it was using her skull for bongos. She reached up to hold her head, but she couldn't move her arms—looking down she realized she was in a straightjacket, her hands flattened against her sides. If she tried to use her powers she'd have to cut through herself before she could cut through the material and Bilbo realized she had no idea whether she was immune to her own energy bolts or not. She fed a little energy into her palms experimentally and bit back a groan as it burned through the cloth and then into her skin.

            Not all of her was immune, then. That was incredibly unhandy.

            She was in a dim room—it looked almost like a warehouse of sorts and everyone else seemed to be there. Her eyes zeroed in on Thorin first; he was on his stomach, a dagger still protruding from his lower back. Remembering Bombur she looked around frantically and—yes! Bombur was there, chained spread-eagle between two posts. She seemed battered but not broken. Dwalin's hands were tied to her neck, Fili and Kili in a forced hug and bound by some kind of chain. Oin had some sort of iron crown around her head that, by the look of it, drove spikes into her skull. It was horrific and Bilbo realized she was the first to wake; everyone’s powers were negated or ensured they would kill themselves and someone else if they used them. Whoever was behind this knew all of their secrets.

            A metal door opened and shut somewhere in the distance, and Bilbo listened as footsteps approached. Boot-heels clicked evenly on the concrete while something else entirely skittered behind. Bilbo swallowed bile as the steps came into the light, a bulbous eye surveying the room with manic glee.

            “I think it's time to wake our sleeping beauties, my pets,” the monster said—a disgusting gargling noise making its words sound wet and malformed.

            The skittering wasn't spiders this time, but strange humanoid creatures walking on all fours. Their claws clicked against the floor and their deformed spines made them look hunched and...wrong. Nothing should have been able to survive like that—they moved fast, hissing and spitting, their claws running over bodies as they scratched and pinched everyone awake. Bilbo swallowed convulsively, fighting the growing urge to vomit as two made their way to her, poking and prodding her body as she lay bound at their mercy.

            The one in human's clothing watched. Pustules pulsed and cracked on his face and hands, greenish yellow ooze sliding down his skin onto the floor. One eye bulged from a misshapen, swollen face and the other empty socket leaked down his cheek. His hands ended in two-pronged claws, and his teeth were full of fangs, some tearing through the skin of his lips adding blood to the fluids he dripped. He brought his claws up in front of him and clacked them together in glee as the bodies surrounding Bilbo started waking with moans.

            “Now that I have your attention,” it hissed after a moment, “I have a very important question. Who among you is the daughter of Belladonna Baggins?”

            Bilbo's heart leapt into her throat—they were after _her_. But how did they know her mother's name? She swallowed, ready to answer when a pained voice spoke first.

            “There is no such person here,” Thorin gritted. It was an inappropriate moment for her heart flip-flop.

            “Ah,” the thing responded, drawing Bilbo's attention back, “Thorin Oakenshield. How I have missed you.” It sauntered over, reaching down and grabbing the dagger in Thorin's back. Then it _twisted_. Bilbo bit down on her tongue trying to swallow her scream. Thorin didn't make a sound, but his ragged breathing gave away how much it hurt.

            “Now Thorin,” the beast continued congenially, “you've worked hard to stay away from Smaug haven't you? But you know he's already on his way. He'll be so very happy to see you once again.”

            It was leaned over, whispering in Thorin's ear like an intimate friend and Bilbo ached for him. They had to get out of here, had to escape before Smaug arrived.

            “Go to hell,” Thorin spat. The thing stood back up with a disgusting wet chuckle—two more pustules popped and the smell of rotting flesh grew stronger.

            “Well pets,” he told the humanoids, “we know we're after a daughter. So let's separate the wheat from the chaff shall we?”

            Bilbo felt claws rake down her body in a grotesque and invasive sex check before she was being dragged towards Bombur by her hair, the deformed beasts grabbing and feeling their bodies to determine who was what. When they had the females separated, the beast walked over and eyed them, his gaze evaluating each in turn.

            “Which one of you,” he said too sweetly, “is our lucky girl?”

            No one said anything.

            “You know Smaug has ways of finding these things out,” he went on after a moment, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “You'll save yourselves pain if you just tell me now.”

            Bilbo knew things were spiraling out of control—she had to act.

            “Right,” he sighed above them, sounding irritated for the first time. “Torture it is then.”

            The creatures moved away, hopping up and down in glee and as the beast turned his back Bilbo took her chance. Hoping she wouldn't destroy her own internal organs, Bilbo focused on unleashing her energy out instead of forward—she could smell her own skin sizzling, but it burned through cloth restraints almost instantaneously and she was free. Jumping up she used the her other power, the one she had promised her mother long ago to never use too often—she turned invisible.

            She didn't like doing this, it came with a cost, but she didn't have much choice at the moment. They were trapped, outnumbered, and she didn't have the aim or control she needed to take everything down quickly. Immediately she was on the move; taking aim, Bilbo started firing off blasts at the humanoids, control forgotten. Her shots punched holes clear through the torsos of three of them and knocked the head off the fourth. Bilbo froze—she had never been that strong. She’d meant to incapacitate not murder. The head rolled wetly across the floor and she choked at what she'd done. The monsters went insane, hissing and swarming as Bilbo told herself she had to keep moving. They were going to find her and kill her friends if she stopped now, but still her feet didn't move.

            “Focus!” Thorin shouted. “Keep fighting!” His voice woke her and Bilbo's feet moved toward him unconsciously as she forced her attention back, dodging bodies and firing at anything that came to close.

            Bilbo had never killed before, but she locked that emotion away and let the need to survive and protect drive her. She kept her eyes on Thorin, not questioning why he grounded her—she hoped he could regenerate once she got the dagger out of him. He was their leader; they all needed him to fight. The nightmares creatures pulled back after her first volley, unsure where she was or where she would strike next; Bilbo grabbed the dagger and pulled straight up, wincing with Thorin's howl. She dropped it in front of him, hoping he could use it as a weapon or something and blew up two more goblins when they charged. When she saw his legs twitch she left him, moving on to Fili and Kili. The beast stood between her and the other females, his eye tracking her movements and she worried he could hear or smell her. She had to chance it though, and she focused on slicing through the chains binding the brothers together. Kili winced when she sliced a little of him off with it and she hoped he wouldn't hold it against her. Once he was free from his brother he turned, whips made of lighting erupting from his hands and sliced one creature in half while decapitating another.

            More were skittering in the dark, reinforcements pouring in from somewhere, but Bilbo focused on getting people free; her stamina held and body parts flew off with each shot. But the leaking beast ignored her, turning and walking up to a vulnerable Bombur and putting his razor-sharp claws around her neck.

            “One more move and she dies,” it said. Everyone froze except Bombur who shouted at them to keep fighting.

            The creature ignored her and hissed straight at Bilbo, “make yourself visible.”

            Bilbo wanted to stall but she didn’t see another option; if it could cut through Bombur’s skin she was dead—invulnerability wouldn’t protect her from decapitation. Terrified for her friend Bilbo swallowed and reappeared. The wave of monsters pulsed at her reappearance, every putrid eye focused on her.

            “Now,” it ordered. “Walk over here. Slowly.”

            “No!” Bombur screamed, struggling against the awkward positioning of her chains. “I'll be fine! Keep fighting!”

            Bilbo didn't hesitate; she had no plan, no idea what she could or would do but she couldn't watch Bombur die, not after the terror of watching her fall off the roof. Bilbo might be useless but she wouldn’t sacrifice her friends. She walked in a straight line across the floor refusing to look away from that disgusting face. If this thing killed her she would meet it with head on.

            A pustule popped and the creature smiled, licking its lips as it looked at her. “Smaug is going to flay you alive and I can’t wait to watch.”

            A blue light exploded across the room stopping Bilbo mid step, flattening and stunning everyone.

            “Bilbo kill him!” someone ordered, and Bilbo pushed herself up to her hands and knees, head ringing from the explosion. “NOW!”

            She looked up and saw the monster struggling back to his feet, that deadly claw inches from resuming its place at Bombur's neck. She unleashed a ball of pure energy directly into its back and it exploded, pieces of bone and tendon landing in puddles of goo on the floor.

            Gandalf appeared out of the darkness and freed Bombur with a wave of his hand, catching her when she stumbled. Stumbling, Bilbo ran to Oin tenderly removing the iron spikes then freed Dwalin's hands, sparing a look back and allowing herself a moment's relief to see Thorin standing again. He had regenerated.

            “Quickly,” Gandalf said, “we must get out of here. Smaug is on his way.”

            Dazed and battered they followed Gandalf into the shadows and through a door into some kind of iron hallway. He raced away and Bilbo struggled to keep up; she had never been much of a runner under the best of circumstances, but adrenaline and survival kept her going. Gandalf turned, then turned again, taking side hallways without pause and blowing one door clear off its hinges. She could only hope the old man knew what he was doing, but then a beautiful, painfully normal “EXIT” sign shone red and a set of metal stairs ascended into the darkness. Bilbo realized they weren't in a warehouse at all—they were _underground_. They could be anywhere—what if they weren't even in the city?

            Strong hands wrapped around her neck choking her thoughts off and she was pulled back, spots dancing in her vision. A hissing voice threatened and her gut clenched—Gollum.

            “We hates it,” it hissed, “but Master wants it so we gets it for him.”

            They all spun around and froze—Gollum had her held up in front of him as a human shield, and he held her far enough out her reaching hands couldn't find him. He had learned from last time.

            “Release her Gollum,” Gandalf warned, his hand raised in warning.

            “No, stupid fat one goes to Master,” it snarled, shaking her. “Gollum will be rewarded, yes.”

            Bilbo’s feet scrabbled against the ground and she fought for breath, knowing if she went unconscious she was dead; she only had a second before Gollum pulled her back around the corner, so she reached up and touched the only part of him she could reach: the hand over her throat. Gandalf's eyes widened as he realized what she was going to do, but Bilbo didn't see another choice—if she misjudged this she would decapitate herself; if she didn't Smaug would have her.

            Time froze and she imagined she was back on the roof, Elrond annoyingly meditating away behind her and the aluminum can a stable target; then she drew a smiley-face into Gollum's hand.

            It howled in pain, two fingers dropping in wet thuds, bouncing off Bilbo and landing on the floor—she had nicked her throat, but she wasn’t dead. He threw her away from him and she hit the ground hard, her knees and wrists catching her weight. Sobbing for breath she pushed forward, feet pounding up the stairs as they all raced away.

            The stairs emptied out onto a thin sidewalk carved directly into a rock wall. The dam—they were at the dam. That placed them around ten miles from city-limits with no plan for escape; Bilbo knew she would never survive a ten mile run. But their first concern was navigating this rock wall and Gandalf led the way as they went single-file towards the dam itself. A parking lot lit by yellow street lights shone dimly on the other side and out of that the road. They couldn’t go that way, though; they would be leading these monsters straight into bystanders.

            They started across the dam, scaffolding designed to protect maintenance workers glinting around them and Bilbo tried not to look down—it was a long fall on this side and she couldn't fly. They were almost halfway across when a fireball blew the wall up in front of them. Something _giant_ flew over Bilbo's head and she watched in horror as the cement crumbled away beneath Gandalf's feet. He threw his hands out, a bluish light coalescing into a transparent shelf that caught the falling bodies.

            “I can't hold us all,” Gandalf said through gritted teeth. “Down to the river below—everyone that can get there themselves go! I'll lower the rest.”

            “Oh Gandalf I do not think so.”

            Bilbo spun and a man strolled out of the darkness. Every instinct she had told her to run, _run_ as far away as she could. Her skin tingled and she felt panic building inside, even though all he did was stand there. He adjusted the sleeves of his tailored suit, expensive shoes glinting in the light of Gandalf's power and when his eyes found her he smiled. Bilbo wanted to scream and cry and run away but she felt frozen—trapped in a prison of terror.

            “Smaug.” Thorin moved between her and the man, staring straight at him, rage and hate radiating from tense muscles.

            “Thorin,” Smaug said, his voice caressing Thorin's name as his attention shifted. “It's been too long.”

            “I will kill you.”

            “Will you,” Smaug condescended. “I think you'll beg me to take you back.”

            Smaug's voice was low and terrible, like night-terrors unleashed in sound. Bilbo was shaking and she couldn't stop, paralyzed on the fragile walkway between Gandalf and Thorin.

            “Tell me Thorin how often do you dream about me?” Smaug asked. Thorin tensed in front of her, his hands balling up around the dagger he still clutched.

            _Bilbo!_ A voice said into her brain. _BILBO!_ _No! Don't look around. Keep watching Thorin_. _Say okay._

            _Okay_.

            _It's Oin, I'm going to shield you so you can move. Do you understand?_

            _I don't understand_

_It's Smaug—he's presence intimidates_.

            _I don't understand._

_Shut up and listen, we don't have much time. Gandalf is going to make a break for it. You need to get Thorin out of here_.

            _How?_

_Just do it!_

_I don't—_

            Bilbo never had a chance to finish the thought. Suddenly her horror receded just enough for her to think and Gandalf and everyone near him were dropping away at breakneck speed while Thorin charged Smaug head-on.

            “Thorin!” she screamed, her decision made for her.

            Smaug caught him with one hand and lifted him up and away, slamming Thorin down into the concrete at his feet. Bilbo watched in horror while Smaug's face shifted, jaw popping and teeth elongating into fangs as he inhaled—without taking the time to question Bilbo blasted Smaug with everything she had and ran to Thorin's side. Smaug howled, falling back into the shadows and Bilbo's body wanted to run, wanted to freeze, wanted to do anything but run closer but Oin's shield seemed to have helped. Bilbo reached Thorin's side, pulling him up into a sitting position, screaming into his face while Smaug stumbled and growled inhumanly in the darkness. Something _big_ was moving in the shadows.

            “We have to go!” she shouted at him. “We have to go now!

            Thorin's icy blue eyes finally focused on Bilbo's face and she wanted to cry in relief when he nodded. Grabbing her, Thorin threw them both off the dam and raced away into the night.


	6. The Green Wood

Thorin dove hard and fast, and Bilbo clung to him desperately, feeling like the wind would rip her free any second. They plummeted toward the tree line and Bilbo squeezed her eyes shut, no choice but to trust Thorin not to kill them both. He pulled up hard just above the canopy, then dropped through the leaves and limbs below and took off again, flying between trees and brush at breakneck speed in the near pitch black shadows. Twigs tore at Bilbo's face and arms, scratching her skin and leaving angry welts all over her body, but Thorin didn't stop. If anything the trees only seemed to make him angrier as he flew faster and faster. Bilbo couldn't tell if Smaug was behind them or above them or if they'd made their escape, and she didn't dare raise her head up to look. She tried calling out to Thorin but he wasn't listening—his grip on her body was hard and impersonal, no thought to how he carried her. Out of options, Bilbo could only shield her face and hold on.

            It seemed an age before he started to slow; when she dared raise her head up again they were flying over mountains, the city nowhere in sight. She couldn't even make out the light pollution in the distance. Thorin still hadn't looked at her, his eyes focused on something Bilbo couldn't see; she wasn't sure she wanted to see. She shivered, remembering his face when Smaug appeared—he wasn't the Thorin she knew; he wasn't simply cold or harsh, he was _inhuman_ , nothing but animalistic rage and hate. Bilbo didn't know what Smaug was or how much of a hold he still had on Thorin, but Smaug wasn't human—of that she was sure. And Thorin stood no chance against him, of that she was also sure. It had been suicide to attack like that; Bilbo had never stood in the presence of a being so terrifying or overwhelming and she doubted even Thorin's regenerative abilities could match up to such awesome power. He was outmatched and overpowered and still he'd charged—Bilbo trembled in his grip, feeling lightheaded as she remembered his doomed charge. What Balin had told her was nothing; she knew nothing about this man or his quest. And Thorin had been right—all her training, all her practice with Elrond had been for nothing. She had barely survived tonight; she was so unprepared for real battle it was laughable. A giggle bubbled up from somewhere inside her and she bit her cheek, knowing it was hysterical, knowing she couldn’t lose control. Not yet.

            A shiver tore through her and Bilbo forced herself to focus; they weren’t done. She was freezing, her body a catastrophe of stinging numbness and growing pain as the adrenaline from earlier wore off. They were somewhere over the mountains, too high up to see much in the dark, and Bilbo pressed up against Thorin's body-heat desperate for warmth. She was shaking so hard now her teeth were chattering, and something was leaking from her neck—reaching up she touched it and hissed. She was bleeding, a lot; she didn't know how much skin she'd lost escaping from Gollum but her shirt was sticky and cold. There was pain in her arms too; it was getting harder to hold onto Thorin and she realized she'd done more damage in the escape than she'd originally thought. She was a mess and they needed to land soon or her death would be a race between hypothermia and blood loss. She wondered if Thorin would even notice. Looking back up at his face she could just make out the way his eyes pinched at the corners, his skin pale even by moonlight. He was obviously suffering too; he had regenerated his spine barely an hour ago, but his face stayed stony and unwavering.

            “Thorin,” she whispered, trying to get his attention, her lips cracking from windburn.

            “Thorin,” she tried again, louder. “Thorin we have to stop.”

            He didn't look at her, didn't respond, didn't so much as acknowledge that she had spoken, but he changed course and veered down into the dark of the mountains. Bilbo didn't know what she could do; if she told Thorin she was hurt she worried he would fly off and leave her. There was no way they could go back to the penthouse, and they had no way of contacting Gandalf or the others, but his eyes still gleamed with a rabid light. She knew Thorin needed rest as much as she did, but if he still wasn't rational Bilbo knew he wouldn't let her slow him down. She would just have to stop the bleeding herself.

            Thorin landed in a grassy clearing, the impact making her legs sting and he stuttered, unsteady on his feet. Bilbo kept her hand on his chest, offering support, but he brushed her away and turned, marching straight into the forest.

            “Thorin!” she called after him, fear at being abandoned choking her. Did he know she was hurt? Was he abandoning her already?

            Her chattering increased as more and more shivers racked her body; Bilbo felt tenderly at the wounds on her arms but couldn’t tell much. Her neck seemed bloody but shallow and she thought maybe it was already slowing, but her left side had seeped through her t-shirt and into her jeans. She was miserable, freezing, in pain, and abandoned on the side of a dark mountain in the middle of the night—Bilbo Baggins had just about had it with this hero business.

            She was running through a list of words that would have made her father faint when Thorin reappeared, his arms full of limbs and twigs, some with leaves still sticking to them. She didn't question his methods; it was _cold_. He stacked without comment then sat down, still and silent in front of the pile.

            “Aren't you going to light it?” Bilbo begged. She winced at the shrill pitch of her voice, but she was holding on by a thread.

            “Aren't you?” he snapped without looking at her. Desperation turned to embarrassment but both disappeared as another harsh shiver tore through her.

            “Right,” Bilbo said remembering she was the one who shot energy.

            She focused on the log in the middle, the one holding it all up. Thorin had been careful not to smother the base as he stacked wood, making it easier for her to light it. How thoughtful of him. Bilbo managed to start a small flame without blowing anything up, and she cheered the little bugger on as it caught leaves and smaller twigs around it. It started producing heat and she sat down next to Thorin on the grass, shivers making her vibrate like a plucked string; she couldn't seem to warm up. As the fire crackled her skin lost its tingling numbness but her chest stayed frozen, like she'd swallowed ice; worse, the battle kept replaying in her head. The image of that gruesome one-eyed monster exploding in front of her flashed every time she blinked; its blood and guts raining down and the wet thunks still reverberating in her ears. She had done that—she had killed that thing and so many others. Sometimes during training Bilbo had imagined herself a hero, fighting alongside Durin’s League, stings flying from her fingertips. The reality had been so much different. So much worse. Bilbo felt bile rise in her throat.

            She had never felt further from home. Or more like she was never going back.

            Thorin seemed far away and Bilbo looked around their clearing, trying to decide where she could hide while she tended her wounds, but when she turned she bit her tongue to hold back a scream—there, on the very edge of the firelight stood the largest, most intimidating man Bilbo had ever seen.

            “Thorin,” she whispered, not taking her eyes from the man. “ _Thorin_.”

            “What,” he growled, not bothering to even look at her.

            “Thorin we're not alone,” she hissed through her teeth. At that he finally spun, his weight shifting so fast Bilbo was knocked on her back behind him. She held in the groan as she landed on her damaged arms and back and fought the need to just lay there. She was suddenly so tired—she didn't want to fight again tonight. Bilbo felt empty, worn out and used up. She was running on fumes and she didn't know how much longer she could last. Sudden desperation made her stupid.

            “Hullo!” she called out and heard Thorin curse in front of her. “Excuse me but could you help us?”

            He threw a glare back at her, eyes ordering her to shut up, but Bilbo didn't care. Either this man was a threat or he wasn’t and she didn’t have time to find out; she was going to pass out soon and she needed to be somewhere safe before Thorin left her. Strange giants on mountains weren't ideal, but if he was willing to help he was all she had.

            “Excuse me we're hurt!” she called out again.

            “Bilbo _shut up!_ ” Thorin hissed at her, but she ignored him, forcing herself back to her feet and stumbling forward.

            “I refuse to be left completely alone on the side of a mountain by you,” she hissed back before looking at the man. “We're so sorry to bother you but we really need help.”

            Mountain Man stared another long moment—from this distance he looked at least three-feet across and seven-feet tall. His beard was thick and black, reaching mid-way down his chest and he was dressed in a serviceable white t-shirt, sturdy jeans, and biker boots seemingly oblivious to the chilled mountain air. If worst came to worst Bilbo figured Thorin could take him. She was useless right now, but surely Thorin wouldn't let someone slaughter her even if he wouldn't make sure she got home.

            Bilbo felt the hysteria bubble up again. Home. What home.

            “Well,” the stranger rumbled—his voice was as deep as Thorin's but rougher, more guttural somehow. “I better help you then.”

            That was all Bilbo needed to hear. With a weak smile she started forward but Thorin grabbed her arm, yanking her next to him. She gasped and his brows drew together as he lifted her hand up, her dripping blood making her arm wet and sticky.

            “Bilbo,” he questioned, finally looking at her. “You're hurt.”

            “Idiot,” she told him stumbling as she fought through the haze around the edges of her vision.

            “Bring her inside,” the stranger told them. “I've got bandages and poultices aplenty.”

            Bilbo watched him turn away from them, walking off into the shadows and she moved after him before Thorin pulled her up short, her arm still clasped firmly in his. He reached down and swept her up, carrying her across his chest without comment. Bilbo watched him with wide-eyes a moment before pulling her arms in between their chests; he moved his grip to avoid her injuries, his fingers coming to rest intimately across her ribs and Bilbo jerked, bothered by how much his touch affected her, even through the pain. She was an idiot; this was not the time to worry about her stupid crush.

            “I'm not about to abandon you on the side of a mountain,” Thorin said softly, striding purposely after the stranger. “Whatever you may think of me, trust that.”

            Bilbo said nothing, too tired to fight anymore; she let her head rest on Thorin's shoulder as they moved down a game trail. She appreciated his words, believed them even, but she didn't trust him; she couldn't after what she'd seen with Smaug.

            The walk to the stranger's house was quick and Bilbo wondered how neither of them had seen his cabin; it was lit by fire and lamplight from within and Bilbo's stomach got with the program at the first whiff of deliciousness on the night air. Thorin entered cautiously, and Bilbo hid a gasp as her eyes adjusted. The cabin seemed enormous inside, open and cozy simultaneously, hand-carved wood furniture dotted the space in front of a roaring fire and baked goods cooled on the kitchen table to their right. Mountain Man appeared from a back hallway, a box in one hand and cotton strips in the other; he seemed even more imposing in the light, but not unkind. His eyes were as black as his hair and he was both altogether normal and not quite entirely human—Bilbo decided she was hallucinating; exhaustion, hypothermia, and blood loss had her seeing things.

            “You can put her on the couch,” he said gesturing to an intricately carved frame with beautiful stuffed pillows.

            “Oh no!” Bilbo said, wincing when Thorin tightened his grip at her outburst.

            “I'm right here Bilbo,” Thorin whispered. “I promise I won't leave you.”

            “It's—it's not that,” she stammered. “I, uh, I don't want to get blood on it.”

            Their host chuckled at that and motioned again. “Don't worry about that—I'll get the stains out no problem.” Thorin hesitated, looking to Bilbo for confirmation.

            “Do you want me to set you down?” he asked quietly.

            Bilbo stared at him, stunned; his expression was enigmatic and she balked at the tone of his voice. He hadn't asked for her opinion about anything since he burst through her wall, not even what she wanted to drink at dinner. The question was harmless, completely innocuous, but it felt strange coming from his lips. Since when did Thorin Oakenshield care what Bilbo Baggins had to say?

            “She's going to bleed to death soon if you don't,” the stranger said casually. Still Thorin didn't move until Bilbo finally nodded.

            He set her down gently, Bilbo might even thought have tenderly if she didn't know better; this was the Thorin who had saved her from Gollum and watched over her when she was poisoned. This was the leader who would die for his soldiers and Bilbo's eyes welled before she could stop them. She hated when he looked at her like that because she wasn't one of his soldiers; Bilbo Baggins was only an annoyance he'd been saddled with by Gandalf and she knew he would remind her of that as soon as she was patched up.

            “I said you needn't worry about it,” the stranger said, misinterpreting her tears. “Now. My name is Beorn—this is my home and you are welcome at my table.”

            “I'm Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo whispered, tearing her gaze from Thorin's. “And I promise to wash your beautiful couch.”

            “Bilbo,” Beorn said. He rolled her name in his mouth as if tasting its shape, his face thoughtful and concentrated as his sure, thick fingers floated over her body, checking her injuries—Bilbo found herself taken aback by his presence. He seemed sincerely unbothered by having two strangers in his house, one of them bleeding all over his beautiful pillows, and she felt an immediate love for him—whether for his kindness or his easy acceptance of her she couldn't say.

            “And who are you?” Beorn said to Thorin, reaching down into the box. Bilbo looked and saw Thorin was staring at her, ignoring Beorn—a strange emotion crossed his face before he answered.

            “Thorin Oakenshield.” His voice was back to being cold and emotionless. Bilbo broke eye contact and stared at the ceiling. She knew he hated her, but he couldn't leave yet. He was hurt too, she knew it, and he needed to rest and eat before leaving again. But would he stay if she asked?

            “So what happened to the two of you?” Beorn asked. “Or is that question too personal for a woman I'm about to see topless.”

            Bilbo felt her eyes widen as Beorn began cutting her shirt open just over her stomach. He winked at her, and she was surprised to find herself smiling back—his joke putting her at ease instead of embarrassing her. She must be half-dead to find this funny.

            “No.” Thorin said, his hand suddenly gripping Beorn's just above Bilbo's navel. Bilbo froze, wondering why Thorin didn't just leave the room if she disgusted him so much.

            “I have to take your shirt off to see the wounds,” Beorn explained patiently, looking only at Bilbo. “I promise it's a necessity and I'll have a clean and mended shirt for you in the morning.”

            Thorin's hand tightened around Beorn's.

            “Do what you have to,” Bilbo whispered. Thorin was being strange, his moods shifting back and forth faster than Bilbo could follow. She was so tired. Weren't they here for help? Why was he acting like this?

            “Tell me Bilbo,” Beorn said, shaking Thorin off and cutting her shirt open quickly, “what brings you to my mountain?”

            “Uh, we, uh,” Bilbo started. She looked to Thorin for help but he was gone, his gaze wondering the cabin as he walked away. She trusted Beorn, something in his demeanor made her feel safe, but even so it didn't seem like she should unburden their quest on him without Thorin's permission.

            “We were hiking,” Bilbo lied badly. “We were hiking and we got lost.”

            “So you two are lovers then?” Beorn asked.

            Bilbo choked and Beorn laughed as he pulled a bowl full of liquid around in front of him.

            “Yes,” Thorin answered from the other side of the room.

            Bilbo knew she was hallucinating now.

            “Hmm,” Beorn said noncommittally. He dipped a washcloth in the water and wrung it out, carefully washing blood from Bilbo's limbs.  “How long have you been together?”

            Bilbo kept her attention focused on the ceiling, refusing to look at either of the men. Thorin got them into this and he could damn well get them out.

            “We're engaged,” Thorin said after a moment.

            Bilbo froze on the couch. She didn't blink, didn't dare breathe—in no reality could she lie well enough to convince anyone she was engaged to Thorin Oakenshield. They couldn't even have a conversation without screaming at each other and he wanted to pretend they were _engaged_?

            “I see,” Beorn responded and Bilbo felt his gaze as it turned back to her. “Well you're pretty far up the mountain and I don't suppose you have any way to get back down?”

            “Uh,” Thorin hedged. “We were going to...walk. Before she got hurt.”

            “Walk?” Beorn laughed, dabbing ointment on Bilbo's neck and arms. “No wonder you're wounded so strangely. Bilbo you could do better.”

            Bilbo smiled weakly and Thorin paced back into her line of sight, his jaw clenching under his beard. She felt no ounce of sympathy for the bastard—he couldn't even pick a lie that was realistic. Engaged! He was the one that hated her—how the hell did he expect this to play out?

            “Well listen it's too far to walk,” Beorn explained, “even after Bilbo here is healthy. I loaned my truck out to a friend, but they should have it back within the week if the weather holds—you guys can stay here until then and I'll take you back down the mountain myself.”

            “We can't wait a week,” Thorin responded roughly. “We appreciate everything you've done, but we need to leave as soon as possible.”

            “Listen, if you thought you could walk down this mountain, you clearly can't find your way out of a paper bag,” Beorn said bluntly. “And it's going to take at least a couple of days to make sure her wounds aren't infected. I’m the closest thing to a doctor in these parts so I’ll ask that you trust me. Bilbo won't be walking down any mountains in less than a week regardless.”

            Bilbo let her eyes fall shut. This was it; this was what she knew was coming the moment she realized she was wounded. Now Thorin would say he was leaving her.

            “Fine,” he said, grinding his teeth around the word. “We'd love to stay.”


	7. A Warm Welcome

Bilbo woke up on a sinfully soft bed with clean sheets, starving but feeling more like herself then she had for weeks. The last thing she remembered was Beorn handing her a delicious tea that tasted of mint and honey and warmed her from the inside out. The top sheet was tucked up under her chin, but it slid down when she moved and Bilbo gasped when cold air hit bare skin. Thorin was suddenly next to her, his brows drawn together but he froze, an unspoken question dying on his tongue. Bilbo was too shocked to react—he looked tired and haggard like he'd slept on the floor, but that was impossible. Why did he look so worried?

            “Bilbo,” he said strangely, “are you...are you okay?”

            “I—what?” Why was he looking at her like that?

            “I'll just,” suddenly Thorin spun, giving her his back. “I'll just look this way.”

            “What?” Bilbo asked again when she finally looked down at herself. “Oh gods!” She dove under the sheets, aghast; she was wearing the absolute thinnest whitest tank top in creation and it was stretched tight across her chest—her very, very visible braless chest.

            “There's uh,” Thorin swallowed, “your clothes were bloodstained so Beorn thought you'd like the uh, the clothes cleaned.”

            “Oh.” Bilbo's face caught fire as she imagined one of them changing her—based on Thorin's disheveled appearance by the bed she was afraid she knew exactly which one. Embarrassment and mortification rode her hard as she remembered the hard planes and chiseled muscles of Durin's League and here she was, the very embodiment of plushy softness, being tended to by the harshest hero of them all. Bilbo couldn't imagine how frustrated he was at being stuck with her instead of out hunting Smaug.

            “There's a shower,” Thorin said. “Beorn laid some clothes out and said there would be food when you woke. If you felt like it. Just, uh, just be careful of your bandages.”

            Bilbo stayed buried under the covers until she heard the door click shut behind Thorin. She got up gingerly feeling hyperaware. She and Thorin. Alone on a mountain. Pretending to be engaged. Bilbo sighed the sigh of person who's life had spun out of control. There was something about Thorin that drew her, had drawn her since she'd found herself clinging to him midair what felt like a lifetime ago. For all of his miserable attitude and harsh words Bilbo just couldn't hate him—there were times she wanted to, it would be so much easier if she could, but she'd seen the way he fought for his friends, even her. Making her way slowly to the shower Bilbo felt Gandalf's absence keenly; Gandalf would know what to do—he would talk to Thorin. What had Bilbo ever done but made Thorin angry and disappoint him? And now they were stuck with each other, lost and on the run. How would they ever find the others; it wasn't like anyone remembered a cell phone while they were being kidnapped and running from terror incarnate. She shivered even as she stepped under hot jets; for the first time since this whole fiasco started she was sincerely terrified. There was nothing she wanted more then to stay as far away from Smaug as she could, but what scared her more than facing Smaug again was Thorin’s quest for revenge—he would never stop and he would never win. And Bilbo wondered when his death had started to terrify her more than any monster could.

            Gandalf and Elrond's words came back to her then and she choked on sudden nausea—she was supposed to kill Smaug. _She_ was supposed to kill Smaug. How in all of creation could she even hurt a creature like that. But if she didn't, Thorin would run to his death; he would never give up his need for revenge, never stop hunting that monster. It was her or Thorin.

            The inevitability of her death sat on her chest, squeezing her breath out, and making her keel over under the water. Her mother's heritage was not fighting-based; however Gandalf and Elrond imagined Bilbo could kill Smaug there was no way she would survive it, not after seeing him face-to-face. Bilbo blew out a breath and felt something inside of her give way; the heavy weight of inevitability settled on her chest and she straightened up again, the decision made. The faces of Durin's League flashed before her—Fili, Kili, Bifur, Bofur, Ori, Dori, Nori, Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, and Bombur. Thorin. So be it.

             An eerie calmness settled her nerves as Bilbo finished her shower; a pair of drawstring shorts and a shirt were laid out on a chair, the material thankfully thicker than the tank top's had been, though Bilbo figured it didn't really matter so much anymore—everyone had seen all there was to see at this point. She dressed slowly, healing but still stiff and made a face at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair hung lank and already frizzy, bruises dotted her neck and body, and her face had seen better days; there was nothing for it and Bilbo didn't waste time wondering about her sudden bout of vanity. At least there was a new toothbrush sitting next to the sink. Brushing quickly Bilbo smelled something delicious wafting through the house and her stomach growled ferociously in response; she was floored by Beorn's generosity. She and Thorin had practically crashed into his home, and he took them in, let her bleed all over his fine furniture, and fed them. Bilbo hoped Thorin remembered to repay Beorn for his kindness when this was all over.

            She went in search of the food, clean bandages clenched in one hand; someone needed to replace them after the shower, but she couldn't reach the ones under her arms herself. The bedroom was at the end of a long hallway off the great room and Bilbo followed her nose; coming around the corner she stopped when she ran into a wall. No, not a wall, Beorn.

            “Well hello there!” he boomed congenially. “I suspect you need those bandages changed eh?”

            “Please,” Bilbo said with a sincere smile. Beorn led her to a shining coffee table that looked to be carved from a tree trunk and sat her down; the surface was smooth and surprisingly warm and Bilbo couldn't stop herself from petting it as he arranged cotton pads, tape, and a honey-scented pot next to her.

            “It's beautiful isn't it?” he asked when he saw her fascination.

            “It is,” she agreed. “Did you make it?”

            He nodded. “Okay, raise your arm and shirt as high as you're able.”

            Thorin shuffled in just as Bilbo wrestled with her shirt—she couldn't raise her arms too high and the excess of material made it difficult to hold her borrowed shirt out of the way while keeping her breasts covered. Her stomach was spotlit and on display and Bilbo felt her face flush again when she saw him; Thorin already thought she was some middle-aged schoolmarm and a body honed on mashed potatoes and wonderful books wasn't going to help. His expression went thunderous and Bilbo buried her head in the material—she knew her feelings for him were ridiculous, but his expression sliced her more painfully than any physical wound.

            “What the hell are you doing?”

            “Here we go again,” Bilbo mumbled.

            “I'm dressing her wounds,” Beorn answered calmly. “You're welcome to do it yourself if you prefer.”

            “I do.”

            Bilbo heard Thorin stomp across the room and she felt Beorn's presence retreat. She jerked when a calloused hand tentatively touched the tender skin over her ribs, holding her while careful fingers applied the paste. Bilbo raised her head slowly and stared open mouthed at Thorin Oakenshield standing inches from her exposed torso, touching her like some sort of porcelain doll.

            “I'm sorry,” Beorn said. “I understand she's your fiancé but after the last two days I thought we'd come to an understanding.”

            “I thought our understanding was that I would take care of _my_ fiancé.”

            Bilbo tried not to laugh as she remembered she was supposed to be engaged to Thorin—as if. But then the second half of Beorn's sentence clicked. “Two days?”

            “You've been asleep for two days,” Thorin said softly.

            “ _What_?”

            Thorin's only answer was a shrug.

            “Why haven't you left?” Bilbo whispered to him, after Beorn excused himself to the kitchen.

            Thorin froze momentarily before shifting around her and continuing his ministrations on the other side. Bilbo was surprised how much his decision to stay touched and surprised her.

            “Thorin,” she said, swallowing around an unexpected lump in her throat. “I know you want to go—sitting still must be killing you. I...thank you. For staying.”

            He put the paste down and taped the gauze to one side and then the other, his movements suddenly tense and jerky. Bilbo watched him, not sure what she'd said to make him so angry. The bandages on, Thorin stood and walked away from her without a word. Bilbo dropped her shirt back down and paused; Thorin's moods were always mercurial, but she was wrong. He hadn't seemed angry when he walked away—if she didn't know better she would have said he was hurt. She wondered when the world stopped making sense, and stood, lost and alone in the middle of Beorn's giant home. After awhile she fell back on the comfortable, steady manners of her father and went into the kitchen.

            “Can I help?” she asked.

            “How about you eat some soup and then you can peel the potatoes.”

            “Mashed potatoes?” Bilbo couldn't quite keep the note of longing from her voice.

            “Absolutely. Nothing helps a body heal faster,” Beorn said with a wide grin.

            “I do consider myself something of a connoisseur,” Bilbo said. This was nice, an easy light banter—it was more Bilbo's speed then all of Thorin’s dramatics. She liked calm, predictable, and pleasant. There was nothing appealing about thunderous, powerful, and passionate—nothing at all.

            “So how long have you and Thorin been together,” Beorn asked lightly.

            Bilbo choked on her soup, rudely spitting some back out into the bowl as a coughing fit took her.

            “Whoa there,” he said, pounding her on the back. “Is it too spicy?”

            Bilbo shook her head, waving him off, desperately searching for an answer. Beorn handed her a glass of water with orders to slip slowly and Bilbo bought a little more time dutifully doing as she was told.

            “Better?” Beorn asked after awhile.

            “Much. Thank you.”

            “Good,” he said with a nod. “Now, how long have you and Thorin been together? I love a good story.”

            His back was too her but Bilbo could have sworn there was something more to his question.

            “Less than a year,” a deep voice said from the doorway. Bilbo felt like choking all over again.

            “That's a quick courtship,” Beorn said congenially.

            “She made quite an impression on me,” Thorin answered him, keeping his gaze on Bilbo.

            “I imagine,” Beorn laughed. Bilbo went back to her soup, dropping her head and becoming very interested in the whorls and spirals of the wooden table.

            “She's saved my life,” Thorin went on. “Did she tell you that? More than once.”

            “What sorts of things are you two doing that requires lifesaving?” Beorn asked, a strange note in his voice.

            “I'm in private security,” Thorin answered easily. “Bilbo was in the wrong place at the wrong time but instead of running her for her life like any normal person she stood up and fought.”

            Bilbo snorted—that was an awfully generous description.

            “Meeting me turned her life upside down but she never ran away, not once.”

            Bilbo looked up slowly, unsure what she would see when she looked at Thorin. Was he making fun of her? He could have told Beorn anything, why talk about her like this? Thorin's clear eyes bored into her own, his stare uncomfortably direct. There were emotions there she couldn't read and he held her, trapped in his gaze as he went on.

            “I was an ass when we first met—I don't like strangers or change and she is easily the strangest person I've ever met, someone who shook my life up whether I wanted her to or not. I thought she would get herself or someone else killed. I thought she was foolhardy instead of brave.”

            Bilbo swallowed, trapped as Thorin confirmed every horrible fear she’d ever had.

            “And I've never been so happy to be proven wrong in my life.” Slowly, deliberately, never once breaking eye contact Thorin walked over to her, cupped her head gently in one hand, leaned down, and kissed her.

            It was a chaste kiss, but he held it, his beard tickling her face as his lips warmed her from the toes up. Bilbo felt the shock dissipate as something else, something she couldn't name replaced it, but then he was gone, walking out of the cabin into the afternoon light. Silence filled the kitchen until the steady sounds of chopping wood drifted in.

            “Well that's quite a story,” Beorn chuckled. “Like something straight off the Lifetime Channel.”

            “You—you watch Lifetime?” Bilbo asked, head reeling.

            “Of course I do!” Beorn laughed. “The Sunday marathons are my favorite.”

            Sudden, sincere affection for this huge, hairy stranger rolled over Bilbo helping her shake off some of her shock. She turned back to her soup, but her lips were tingling. She wanted to run to the bedroom and bury herself under the covers or plaster herself to Beorn's easy warmth and cheerfulness until monsters and bravery faded back into late night stories and made-for-tv movies. But she couldn't hide in this kitchen forever. If this was the story they planned to stick with she and Thorin needed to get a few things straight.

            “The soup was delicious,” she told Beorn, carrying her dishes to the sink. “Would it be alright if I spoke with Thorin before taking care of dinner?”

            “Of course,” Beorn waved her off. “The wood pile's out by the shed.”

            It wasn't warm outside, but it wasn't freezing either. Bilbo held her arms to her chest as a slight breeze chilled her and winced as she pulled at her wounds. Two days. She'd slept for two days; no wonder she was so groggy and confused. She would get their story straight and politely ask Thorin to have mercy on her—maybe she could explain how her mouth watered every time she saw him and his pretense of caring for her was turning her soul inside out. Ha. Confessing her crush to Thorin. Bilbo made herself laugh out loud with that one.

            She came around the corner of the cabin cautiously, unsure of her welcome—whether because of what just happened or in spite of it she couldn't say, but her breath whooshed out of her, all her thoughts scattered as what she saw roundhoused her in the stomach. The track in her brain was skipping again. It was  something out of a Bounty commercial if they were selling pornography instead of towels—Thorin's shirt was off, the borrowed flannel draped over chopped wood, and a sheen of sweat made him glisten in the afternoon light. He swung methodically, one strike cleaving pieces of wood in two before he reset and swung again. If the quick glimpse of him topless at the penthouse had caught Bilbo off guard, her brain couldn't even process what she was seeing now; his muscles coiled and bunched with each movement, black chest hair tapered into a straight line across his stomach and disappeared into his jeans. Rounded pectorals overshadowed abs so hard and defined Bilbo imagined she could cut her tongue licking them, and boy did she want to find out. And all of it was framed by shoulders that suddenly seemed too broad for belief—how had Bilbo missed how _big_ he was? The memory of the chaste kiss roared back and Bilbo couldn't stop the heat that followed; her hand went to her lips as if she could somehow recreate the feel of him pressed against her. So lost was she in what she was feeling she didn't even notice he had stopped chopping wood, turning instead to watch her watch him.

            When she finally pulled her gaze away from that tantalizing stretch of skin between his navel and belt buckle he cocked an eyebrow at her and Bilbo snapped her mouth shut as her blood shifted direction, a flush lighting her skin from head to toes.

            “Uh, I'm, you know,” she stammered. Mercy, would he put his shirt on? She was so happy he wasn't putting his shirt on. Bilbo rubbed viciously at her eyes. What in the world was wrong with her.

            “How are you feeling?” His voice was unexpectedly close and Bilbo jumped, tripping over her own feet, but his hands shot out, grabbing her shoulders and steadying her. His grip felt like it was branding her through the cotton.

            “Fine,” she squeaked.

            “You shouldn't be out here,” he said. Instead of letting go of her, he kept one hand on her shoulder while he lifted the other up, carefully feeling her forehead and cheek. Bilbo's mouth went dry.

            “I'm fine.” She hated how breathless she sounded.

            “I was worried about you,” he said softly.

            Bilbo got lost in his eyes for a second, her body leaning into his touch without her permission. She liked this, liked being touched by him, liked that they were talking without screaming at each other, but it felt foreign and unstable like trying to stand still on shifting sand.

            “I,” she tried, having to stop and swallow. “Why did you kiss me?”

            “Because we're supposed to be engaged,” he answered. He said it with half a smile and no sarcasm but the words hit Bilbo like a bucket of ice water. That's right—this was all a joke, a ruse to fool Beorn.

            “Beorn can't see us,” she said, pulling from his touch. “There's no need to pretend out here.”

            Hurt made her angry; everything she felt was alien to her. Emotions she had long since forgotten and ignored beat at her from every angle. Did Thorin think he could play with her? That he could touch her and kiss her and she wouldn't care? Did he think she was a robot, or that because he wasn't attracted to her it was impossible she would be attracted to him? Bilbo didn't know if she wanted to cry or punch him. Maybe both. He stepped back from her quickly, surprise coloring his features before he shuttered himself and went cold.

            “I didn't realize pretending to be in love would be such a problem for you.”

            “It's not pretending to be in love that's the problem,” Bilbo bit off. “It's pretending to be in love _with you_.” As soon as the words were out she wanted to take them back—she didn't mean it, not like that. They sounded all wrong, but she was overwhelmed and her words hung there, pushing him away from her just like she wanted.

            Thorin said nothing, his jaw clenching as he stared at her for a long moment. He turned and walked away from her, dismissal apparent in every inch of his stiff back.

            “Thorin,” she called after him but trailed off. He didn't even pause; with a shake of her head Bilbo trudged back inside, the wind suddenly biting her bare skin. How did it always get so screwed up between the two of them? She didn't want to be mean, rudeness wasn’t even in her nature, but couldn't he see how unfair it was to ask her to pretend? She didn't want to fight with him anymore, but his gentleness ruined her. There had to be a middle-ground, somewhere they could compromise where civil interaction was possible without Bilbo's heart being splayed out like a sacrificial lamb. But how could she ever ask Thorin to understand without first admitting how she felt?

            She walked back into the kitchen and plastered a smile to her face. Beorn gestured towards enough potatoes to feed Manhattan and Bilbo dove in, thankful for the distraction. They worked in companionable silence for awhile, Thorin going in and out with firewood before disappearing to the great room around the time Bilbo finished peeling. Her thoughts settled with each potato. She had always enjoyed the simplicity of making food with someone; it was a joy she hadn't had since her parents died. Dinner parties had lost their flavor after Bilbo was on her own, and by the time her grief had passed she had lost touch with most of their former friends and family. It had never been a loss Bilbo felt keenly, but something about the unexpected domesticity of working alongside Beorn brought the old pain out.

            “Hey,” Beorn said gently. “What's wrong?”

            Bilbo was mortified to realize she was about to cry—she'd almost broken down like some ninny right there over the potatoes; her father would be appalled. Blinking she swallowed the feelings, focusing instead on Beorn's concerned face and forced a smile.

            “Oh I'm fine!” she lied. “I just used to do this with my parents is all.”

            Beorn smiled and turned back towards whatever he was making in a giant pot—it already smelled delicious. “How long have they been gone?”

            “Years and years,” Bilbo said. “But I still miss them.”

            “Tell me about them,” he urged her. Bilbo looked up from her pot, surprised he cared.

            “Really?” she asked.

            “Please.”

            “Okay, well,” Bilbo paused unsure where to begin. “My mother was a bit of a wild child, but my father enjoyed a quiet life; I think they complimented each other well. We had a nice home—nothing too fancy, but comfortable. We would play games together sometimes but mostly, I don't know, I suppose you would say mostly we just loved each other.”

            “That sounds very nice,” Beorn told her and she relaxed. “What do you think they would have thought of Thorin?”

            It was an innocent question, but Bilbo felt the anxiety from earlier flood back; it was getting harder and harder to only pretend she loved Thorin Oakenshield. She just wanted so desperately for a friend to talk to.

            Beorn might be that friend, but Thorin was sitting in the next room and they were being hunted by monsters with no sense of personal space or propriety. Setting her lips Bilbo lied with the truth and repressed the rest with all the skill of a Baggins.

            “I think they would have liked him very much.”

            “You're lucky to have someone who loves you so much,” Beorn said. Bilbo snorted, scrounging for an explanation when Beorn looked surprised by her response.

            “We've never,” Bilbo's brain scrambled for the words, “been overly affectionate. It's all been very sudden and...tumultuous.”

            Beorn cocked one eyebrow and pinned her with a look. “Thorin might not be a roses and chocolate sort of guy, but he never left your side from the moment he carried you in here. I've seen my fair share of injuries and loved ones in my life and I'm telling you—that man loves you.”

            Don't be ridiculous Bilbo wanted to say. But instead she forced a small smile at Beorn's words.  Thorin Oakenshield absolutely did not love her. But she was beginning to admit she loved him. Oh bother.


	8. An Interlude

Dinner was relaxed and quiet; Thorin came to the table when called and said little. Beorn and Bilbo talked of their shared interests, the weather, and life on a mountain. It was comfortable conversation, the kind that came easy with calm emotions. By the time Bilbo was stifling her third yawn her mood had improved dramatically—they moved back to the great room with warm drinks and dessert where Thorin sat quietly in the corner and read his book. He seemed pensive, lost in thought somewhere far away and Bilbo wished she didn't notice, or maybe that she didn't care—it was hard to say—but she liked this chance to see him, to be with him. Shaking her head, Bilbo reminded herself she didn't get to feel that way.

            “Well,” Beorn said after she yawned yet again. “I think it's time you two went to bed. I cleaned the sheets. Thorin you'll want to change Bilbo's dressings again before you sleep.”

            “What?” Bilbo asked.

            “Another day of ointment,” Beorn explained, “and then you'll probably be fine. You seem to have dodged infection which is good news.”

            “What?” she said again. They weren't—they couldn't. He couldn't mean...

            “Thank you for your hospitality,” Thorin said over her. “We really appreciate it.”

            “It's not every day I get to meet such a unique couple,” Beorn said with a wink. “I do love a good story.”

            Bilbo felt her stomach dive into her toes as Beorn left—what could they do? Surely Thorin didn't mean to make her sleep on the floor?

            “By the way,” Beorn said suddenly from the hallway, “I must ask one favor.”

            “What is it?” Thorin said.

            “Please don't go outside until morning.”

            “Why?” Bilbo asked, lost.

            “The mountains are not the city,” Beorn said, holding her gaze. “I can't guarantee your safety outside these walls. Promise me you won't go outside until morning.”

            “We promise,” Thorin answered for them.

            Bilbo's head was spinning and she walked in a daze as Thorin took her hand, pulling her back toward the bedroom. He moved her to the bed where she sunk into the mattress with wide eyes. The door clicked and the reality of the sleeping arrangements had Bilbo's heart hammering in her throat. She was supposed to spend the night. Alone. With Thorin Oakenshield. In the same bed.

            Thorin seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing. He moved around the room and adjoining bathroom gathering up the ointment and clean gauze. Bilbo tried to tell herself it was just like the penthouse; she had shared a room with half the company and hadn't thought twice about it. But somehow being sandwiched between Dwalin and Bombur felt far less personal then sharing a king bed with Thorin.

            “Lift your shirt,” he said gruffly. Bilbo stared up at him wondering when life became hellbent on torturing her. “Come on Bilbo, we need to do this before we sleep.”

            “We're going to share the bed?” she asked. Her stupid voice was breathy again and Bilbo wanted to punch her own face—it wasn't like she'd never shared a bed with a man before but that man had never been Thorin either.

            “He thinks we're in love.” Thorin's voice was odd too, there was a strained quality to it as Bilbo awkwardly raised her t-shirt again to expose the bandages. Next time she hurt herself it needed to be some place decent and easy to treat. “I can sleep on the floor again if you're uncomfortable.”

            Again. A strange feeling twinged at that. “No,” Bilbo whispered. “It's fine.”

            Thorin peeled the old gauze away, his touch still surprisingly gentle, then spent a few moments poking at her wounds—Bilbo resumed the position, hiding her face behind her shirt again so he couldn't see her reaction every time his fingers brushed the underside of a breast. Her life was a travesty.

            “I'm sorry about earlier,” she whispered, surprising them both. She felt Thorin still for a moment, his fingers burning into her skin.

            “Me too.”

            Bilbo felt desperate and exposed, and when Thorin said she was done she dropped her shirt and shot off the bed, but Thorin pushed her back down with a hand on her shoulder, and Bilbo looked up at him with wild eyes.

            “You're neck,” he told her.

            “What?”

            “I need to check your neck,” he said again. “It isn't as bad, but I still need to check it.”

            “Oh.” Her breath came out in a frustrated sigh and the torture continued as Thorin brushed her hair back, gently tilting her head to one side. Bilbo's leg started bouncing as his fingers brushed behind her ear in something that felt dangerously like a caress.

            “You're healing fast,” he said. “I think your neck will be fine by tomorrow, but your sides could still reopen.”

            Bilbo nodded against the hand holding back her hair.

            When Thorin released her she jumped up and ran to the other side, putting as much space between the two of them as she could. Her body had gone into overdrive, every breath smelled like him, his touch made her restless and jittery, his kindness left her feeling exposed. She hated it and was desperate for it. Bilbo dove under the covers and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't know who she was running from more—him or herself.

            “Good night,” Thorin said.

 

            Bilbo didn't know how long it took before she finally fell asleep—one second she was fighting the urge to flop over and kick at the covers and the next she was unconscious. Despite having slept for two days, she was apparently still exhausted. She hugged the edge of the bed, terrified she would brush up against Thorin while she slept—she always hated sleeping with someone. Bilbo moved in her sleep, sometimes she talked, and even, on occasion, snored. She wanted to roll over but she didn't want to face him. She wanted to lay on her back but she worried she would take up too much space. She wanted to be rational again and stop feeling his presence next to her like an electrical charge.

            When Bilbo finally drifted off it was a restless sleep, one that felt like she was still awake, except she wasn't at Beorn's anymore. She was back in the warehouse where those awful things were hurting them. She was so scared for Bombur; those disgusting claws were pushing into the tender skin of Bombur's neck and Bilbo started screaming as the blood slid across Bombur's skin, spotting her shirt. Bombur was yelling something, crying out in pain but Bilbo couldn't hear her, couldn't get to her and as Bilbo spun, looking for help she saw all of them writhing, bleeding as they were tortured. She screamed again but nothing came out—all she could hear were their screams not her own. She was so angry, so scared, and she started firing at the monsters. Clawed arms and monstrous heads rolled across the floor as blood splattered, mixing on the concrete at Bilbo's feet, but it wasn't enough; there were still more. She kept shooting but more appeared and she couldn't get to her friends, couldn't get them free.

            Bilbo froze, a sickening sound coming from Bombur. The beast next to Bombur squeezed, her face contorting in agony as its claws tore through her skin and ripped her head from her body. Bilbo stood horrified as Bombur's head bounced across the floor, rolling to a stop at her feet but when she looked down it wasn't Bombur's face staring up at her—it was Thorin's.

            Bilbo jerked awake sobbing. Her hands tore at the sheets and she thrashed, desperate and terrified as she fought to see in the dark room.

            “Bilbo,” someone was saying, hands were touching her, pulling on her but Bilbo fought, caught between waking and dream.

            “Bilbo!”

            Her name thundered and Bilbo stilled, trying to swallow the sobs still pushing against her throat. She didn't fight this time, letting the hands pull her down; a hand pushed her tangled hair out of her face and tilted her head, wiping the tears off her cheek as the voice kept talking to her, quiet now—a  gentle, easy stream of words Bilbo could lock onto until her eyes finally focused.

            “Thorin,” she cried in a desperate whisper and threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck, the sobs starting anew. He was here. He was alive. He was alright. He was here. He was alive.

            “I'm okay. I'm alive. It was just a dream,” he told her, holding her tightly against him. Bilbo realized she was saying it out loud over and over again like some manic refrain or desperate prayer but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

            He let her cry it out, rolling to his back and taking her with him so she was held tightly in his arms, one hand rubbing circles in her back as she got herself under control. He didn't push her away when she finally quieted. Bilbo didn't ease her grip; she clutched him, his steady heart beating against her, proof he was here. Proof he was okay.

            “Do you want to tell me about it?” he whispered against her hair.

            “No.”

            He didn't push, but he moved the hand from her back up, running his fingers gently through her tangled hair. Bilbo sniffled into his neck, still too shook up to calm down.

            “I still remember the face of the first person I killed,” Thorin said quietly after awhile. Bilbo stiffened against him, but his fingers kept soothing her in long, gentle strokes. “I was nineteen. It wasn't even messy, just...I pulled the trigger and he froze—I can still remember how shocked he looked. It felt like the world stopped around us. Then he choked a little on blood and fell on his face in the dirt. Dead.”

            Bilbo squeezed him a little tighter. His voice was casual, no sign he was still bothered by it at all, but there was an undercurrent there, an undefinable roughness just under the surface like something never healed quite right.

            “I dreamt about that for a long time. A long time. Still do sometimes. Even though others have been closer and uglier since then, I only dream of him.”

            After a long silence Bilbo shifted her head, pulling it away from his neck and shifting until she could lay her cheek on his chest. “How did you know?”

            “Because I understand,” he whispered. “I know you never asked for this. I know you're not a soldier, but you are a fighter Bilbo. You've proven that ever since I shook dust out of my eyes and saw you standing up to Gollum.”

            “Ha,” Bilbo said humorlessly. “All I do is blow holes in your walls. You said so yourself.”

            Thorin's fingers paused for a second before resuming their path through her hair. “I was wrong. About a lot of things. About you.”

            “I'm sorry you're stuck here with me instead of looking for Gandalf,” Bilbo whispered into his chest.

            Thorin rolled and Bilbo gasped as her back hit the mattress, his dark form looming over her in the darkness. “You will not apologize for that anymore.”

            Bilbo gulped, too many emotions fighting for dominance inside her. Did he mean he was tired of her apologizing? But he didn't seem angry with her exactly. He was leaning over her, pressed against her hips with his hands on either side of her head; it felt painfully intimate in the dark and Bilbo was suddenly very aware they were alone in a bed together. She scrubbed at her tear stained face and said nothing—why did she have to feel like this. She wanted her placid, boring life back.

            “Bilbo,” Thorin said after a moment. He said her name like a command, demanding her attention. “Bilbo you saved our lives back there. I know I—I know I lost control when Smaug showed up. I scared you. I'm sorry—I'm so sorry. I thought you were a liability; I was worried I was going to get you killed and I didn't want that responsibility. I didn't want to live with more guilt. But I was wrong. Bilbo look at me.”

            His hand came up and cupped her cheek, forcing her hands down and her face up—his eyes glittered in the moonlight from the window.

            “I was wrong.”

            Maybe it was the safety of the dark or the intimacy of their position but Bilbo felt something unfurl inside her, a bravery she hadn't felt since her mother had held her close and promised she could do anything, be anything. “So you don't hate me?”

            “No,” Thorin said and she could see his smile even in the shadows. “I don't hate you.”

            “And I don't annoy you?”

            “Well,” he shrugged, dragging the word out. Bilbo smacked his shoulder and he chuckled, his thumb rubbing back and forth setting her skin on fire.

            “Do you,” he started, his voice suddenly uncertain. “Do you hate me?”

            “No,” she whispered, that mysterious bravery keeping her honest. “I don't hate you at all.”

            He leaned down slowly, his face inching towards her and Bilbo waited her brain unable to process what he was doing; her breath caught in her throat. His lips hovered above hers for a heartbeat and she closed the distance, leaning up and kissing him. Her thoughts stuttered and stopped; she was kissing him. She was kissing him and it wasn’t pretend. It felt like a dream.

            It was a slow kiss; his grip tightened as he fit his mouth to hers, taking his time tasting her and Bilbo felt something ignite; his tongue slipped into her mouth, an easy tasting that drew a moan from deep inside her. Bilbo didn't even know she could make that sound. Every thought, every worry disappeared at the feeling of him against her, but he kept the kiss tender and restrained, nipping at her and pulling back as she became more insistent. She was coming up off the bed after him, her lips chasing his and he chuckled deep in his chest. He was teasing her, playing with her and enjoying the way she fought him for control. She growled at him, reaching up to hold his head where she wanted it and he countered, grabbing her right hand and pinning it by her head. Then he rolled, catching her left hand and pinning that one too. His hips shifted and she moaned against his mouth as his body pushed down on hers, his weight settling between her legs. His deepened the kiss, growling at her as he released one hand to reach down and pull her leg up higher, letting him rub against her—Bilbo pulled one hand free and buried it in his hair, holding him tight as she matched him.

            “Bilbo” he said. Her name was a guttural prayer from his lips and he nipped at her jaw, her neck, tongued along her collarbone. “Can I touch you?”

            “Please.” He let go of her leg, his hips still rubbing maddeningly against hers, and his free hand trailed along the hem of her shirt—teasing her.

            “How.”

            “What?” Why was he talking; she needed less talking and more touching. His lips had found a spot on her neck and Bilbo bit her lip to keep quiet.

            “Tell me what you want me to do next,” he whispered like the heartless bastard he was.

            “Uhh—” She didn't want to talk, didn't want to think, but he was merciless, everything he did to her winding her tighter and tighter. It wasn't enough—she needed to feel his skin pressed against hers, wanted their clothes off and his mouth on her.

            “What now Bilbo? What else do you want me to do?” He bit her neck, catching the delicate skin between his teeth and then soothing it with his lips. The pain shot down her spine, making her buck underneath him, but he stopped again, pulling back to light kisses that left her feeling empty and strung out.

            “ _Thorin_ ,” she moaned. It came out more forcefully then she meant—she said his name like a curse and he chuckled against her skin, his beard scratching beneath her ear as he returned to her neck. He pinned both hands again; it felt like he was feasting on her and her control snapped. Desperate, Bilbo rolled her body against his, one long undulating wave from groin to chest and back down again. She could feel him hot and hard through his own borrowed pair of shorts, the thin material only frustrating them both as Bilbo's movements made him pulse against her.

            “Tell me Bilbo,” he growled. “Tell me what to do.”

            “Kiss me,” she half-shouted. She meant to sound demanding or maybe breathy and seductive. Instead it burst out of her like some sort of half-barked cry.

            “Kiss you where,” he whispered into her ear.

            “ _Everywhere_.”

            He smiled, a slash of white in the darkness, and then finally, mercifully kissed her—really kissed her. She opened up eagerly underneath him, moaning as he brushed across the roof of her mouth making her shiver. But then she was tasting him and it was his turn to moan, his hips stuttering into hers as his hands tightened their grip. Every part of her was over sensitive, the material of her shirt abrasive, and when he left her mouth again she pulled at her hands insistently, desperate to touch him—she wanted his shirt off. She needed to feel him.

            “Not yet,” he teased, tasting the hollow of her throat.          

            “I want to touch you,” she pleaded. She wasn't sure she was rational anymore. His body slid along hers as he shifted his weight and she cried out, wanting him back where he was. He switched his grip, moving both of her hands into one of his larger ones then slid his freed hand down her ribcage and back up under her shirt. She groaned, every touch not enough, his teasing only making her desperate for more.

            “Stupid...stubborn,” she cursed him between pants as he stroked everywhere but where she wanted him. The night air was chill against her overheated skin and Bilbo writhed under his touch, every second driving her more insane. Then he got his mouth on her nipple and her world exploded.

            She made a strange keening sound as he bit at her gently, pulling against his grip while her hips rocked without her consent.

            “Do you know how long I've thought about this,” he said, looking up at her as he replaced his mouth with his hand. He lowered again, kissing his way to her other breast, and she arched, urging him to move faster. Instead he pulled up again, tracing her sternum with his finger. “Do you?”

            “Wha—what?” Why was he asking her strange questions.

            “Well _this_ ,” he said, one finger circling her areola lazily as she twisted desperately beneath him, “I've been thinking about all day.”

            “Why?” she panted.

            “That damned tank top this morning.” He took her in his mouth again, his tongue abrading her as he worked one breast with his mouth and the other with his hand. When he lifted his head again Bilbo almost begged him not to stop.

            “I couldn't keep my eyes off you.” His voice still sounded calm, like he was having conversation over fucking _tea_ and she snarled when he smiled at her and licked his lips. “All I could think about was tasting you.”

            “Then do it,” she snapped.

            “But,” he said, free hand sliding down now, smoothing over her stomach. “I've noticed you like control.”

            “You should talk,” she said through her teeth; she was going to kill him. Absolutely murder him and his infuriating face—he dipped one finger below the material, tracing the pattern lower and Bilbo brought one knee up, straining for his touch.

            “I'm used to giving orders,” he chuckled pulling his hand out and untying the ties of her shorts. “But I think I could take them from you.”

            She whimpered as he ran a hand down the top of her thigh, bringing it back up the inside and _stopping_ , his warm palm steady and immobile on her skin. She was vibrating under his touch—her clothes restricting her more than his hands, his words and teasing making her want to scream in frustration. She couldn't think past the need to be touched by him, the need to feel him inside her.

            “There it is,” he whispered, his hand twitching against her thigh.

            “Thorin,” she begged. His name was a whimper—a plea for mercy. She was splayed out beneath him, panting and desperate—a willing sacrifice begging to be feasted on.

            “Yes.”

            She bit back a scream when he touched her—Bilbo had never been vocal, but his fingers stroked and explored, finding the places that made her gasp and buck against him and working them until she rode his hand. He kissed her, never breaking the pattern and speed set by his fingers and swallowed her cries. When his body suddenly disappeared she didn't even realize he'd released her until he was ripping her shorts off and dropping back, lifting her legs over his shoulders and running both hands across her thighs. Bilbo looked down her body at him, half-mad with need and forgot to be self-conscious when he licked her bottom to top, then spread her open with his fingers, latched on and sucked.

            Bilbo had been with good lovers and not-so-good lovers in her life, but none of them had felt like this.

            Her entire existence narrowed to his mouth, her existence shifted between shock at how good it felt and complete incomprehensibility. His fingers stroked, petted, and when he slipped one inside she contracted around him, her body firing on its own. He hummed against her and went from one finger to three, making her hiss at the delicious stretch. He stroked slowly, in and out in tandem with his lips when he turned, crooking his fingers up and rubbed. The orgasm ripped through Bilbo so fast she full-on screamed, her hips pulling back from him, everything too much, too good, but he wouldn't let her go. His forearm came down across her stomach, pinning her to the bed and he kept going as she spiraled into bliss, fireworks going off behind her eyes. When he finally stopped, placing one last kiss on the inside of her thigh her head lolled on the bed—too weak to so much as moan. 

            He came back up her body and she reached for him, hands diving under his shirt and she found new energy when she finally felt his burning skin under her fingertips. She still couldn't catch her breath but he pulled the shirt over his head at her unintelligible moan, smiling when she nodded in approval, licking her lips. She was starving at a buffet—she ran her hands over his muscles built from years of fighting, through the black hair that covered his chest, and followed that trail she wanted desperately to taste. She reached for his waistband, pleased to see he was every bit as ready as she was when she stopped cold—one clear thought working through the haze.

            “Condom?” she cried. No, no, no, no she had never wanted anything like she wanted Thorin Oakenshield inside her—she was committed, it was done, not even Smaug could stop her now.

            Thorin was no help, shrugging like an idiot with a pained expression, and Bilbo was up, energized with purpose, and tearing through the drawers of the guestroom.

            “Beorn's a strapping young lad,” she reasoned aloud, “he's got to have condoms somewhere.”

            “Can we not talk about Beorn's use for condoms right now?” Thorin groaned.

            “Hey this is for you too!” she snapped at him. She had a half-naked, fully aroused Thorin Oakenshield in a bed right now waiting for _her;_ she was not losing this battle. Opening the closet doors she saw luggage stowed in the back and she yanked it onto the floor, ripping through pockets and bags in her search.

            “Ah-ha!” she cried in victory. There was one lone solider, forgotten in a toiletries bag—she hadn't even needed to search the rest of the house. It was Thorin's turn to be nervous when she stood up with a smile, pulling the t-shirt over her head and stalking back to him, completely nude.

            “Who's smiling now?” she teased.

            He leaned back when she pushed, meeting her kiss eagerly as she ran her hands over him, raking her fingers lightly across his nipples. He hissed slightly and she pulled the tie free of his own borrowed shorts, the cotton material stretched thin around him. He kicked the shorts off as she climbed back onto his legs—he was big and Bilbo took him in her hand, measuring him with her grip. He jerked under her touch and she wanted to taste him, to spend her time making him scream like he'd done to her, but he was already wet and he grabbed the condom from her, ripping it open while she was contemplating the physics of her throat and his length.

            “Later,” he panted, rolling the condom on. “Later I promise to let you do anything you want to me. Just not now.”

            His eyes were creased from strain and when she looked back up at him she felt every confused and conflicted emotion from the moment she first met this stupid stubborn fool coalesce. He wanted her. He wanted her so much it made him pant and she took his face in his hands and kissed him tenderly, gently as she moved her knees forward, positioning herself. She reached down and held him as she sank down and he gasped, burying his face in her neck as his muscles bunched and strained under her touch. It had been a  long time for Bilbo—long enough the stretch burned more than she remembered, but it felt right too. As they came together she cried out in feral bliss—she didn't know; she had never known it could feel like this.

            His hips rocked and she moved, setting a torturous pace in revenge for earlier. His jaw clenched, and she could feel his heart hammering against her own. He was fighting for control, struggling to let her set the speed and she kissed him again—overwhelmed with emotion. Breaking the kiss she placed her lips against his ear and whispered one, desperate command.

            With a roar he flipped her onto her back, the new position driving him deeper and she gasped at the feeling. He pounded her into the bed, pulling her legs up over his shoulders as he drove down into her. Bilbo felt undone. The feel of him like this—around and inside her—his face an expression of pained bliss above her—she wanted to remember this forever, to remember him like this forever.

            His speed picked up and she reached down between their bodies, her fingers finding her clit and working it—a strangled moan escaped when he saw what she was doing and he leaned down again, kissing her as his hips pistoned. Bilbo felt herself tensing, winding up tighter and tighter and he shifted his angle again and she exploded around him. He followed almost immediately, his body jerking as she pulled at him and the universe froze around them, an endless moment of paradise as everything narrowed to their bodies, joined in the darkness. When they finally came back he collapsed, rolling to his side and pulling her with him.

            Bilbo couldn't seem to stop smiling as she lay plastered against him; she wasn't sure she would ever walk right again, but she didn't care. By the time Thorin found the strength to clean up she was already sound asleep.


	9. Back to the Fire

Bilbo woke plastered to Thorin, groggy and blissful. She was naked and sore and for half a second nothing made sense until her memory kickstarted in full technicolor and her heart started skipping beats. It seemed like a dream, something that didn't really happen, something too impossible to have happened. It was so unbelievable Bilbo lay for a second and nearly convinced herself she'd made it all up—nothing more than a vivid hallucination—but her bladder twinged and when she moved hyper-sensitive nerves made her yelp. That was no dream. She sat up, stalling out as her eyes got lost in the expanse of Thorin's naked back lying next to her; her hand reached without permission, fingers so close she could feel the heat from his skin, but she pulled back, unsure if she should—if she could—touch him. Bilbo took a breath and held it, drowning in her emotions; she felt—she felt raw. She yelled at herself even if it didn't do much good; she had been so levelheaded and steady her whole life, but now nothing felt steady. It was like every day she woke to find herself in an entirely new world, completely lost and bewildered and the only thing that was same, the only thing she could count on was this strange magnetic pull to Thorin that only seemed to get stronger each second they spent together. She wanted desperately to understand what it was about him that unsettled her so thoroughly, but whether she wanted to understand so she could be with him or run from him Bilbo didn't know. Maybe both.

            She pulled the sheet out from under the blankets and shuffled off to the bathroom soundlessly. Relieving herself, Bilbo lingered in the cool emptiness of the bathroom trying to get her emotions under control; her hair was a tangled mess and her skin was dotted with beard burn and bruises. She didn't even recognize herself, but something like pleasure and satisfaction pushed through her mess of feelings, and Bilbo finally let herself relax into the small self-satisfied smile.

            “What are you doing?” Thorin asked and she jumped, clutching the sheet tight around her body. He was standing completely nude in the bathroom door watching her; his stare making her blush furiously even as her eyes greedily fastened on his form. Bilbo had slept with this man. Bilbo had had _sex_ with this man. Oh god she knew what his penis looked like.

            Bilbo spun back to the sink and he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle, dropping his head to nuzzle her neck. There was something delicious about watching him kiss her in the mirror and Bilbo's embarrassment evaporated as she bit her lip around a moan. Thorin's eyes locked onto hers in the mirror, his gaze holding her rapt as he slid one hand down, inside the sheet she clutched in front; her hands fell apart at his touch, a swath of skin exposed as he traced the path from her stomach down, his fingers disappearing below the counter.

            Bilbo's head fell back against his shoulder and her legs turned to jelly as he locked his other arm around her, holding her up against him. Bilbo felt scandalous, his erection was warm against her back and she wiggled deviously, snickering at his growl. Her earlier indecision vanished as Thorin bit down on her neck, giving her another bruise before releasing her, ripping the sheet away until she was trapped, nude and vulnerable in front of him. His eyes pinned her in the mirror and he pulled open a drawer on her right, taking out another condom with a wicked grin.

            “Guess what's in the bathroom.”

            The unbanked desire in his gaze hit her with the force of a punch—he was so beautiful he took her breath away. His hair had grown a little long, its black waves unkempt from her where her fingers had clutched in the night; she licked her lips as his muscles flexed behind her, watching him in the mirror as he set her hands on the counter, bending her in front of him and easing her legs apart. Bilbo was lost in watching the reflection of their contrasting bodies, her smooth softness complimenting his rough edges. He ran his hands down her back and around—barely leashed power thrumming from him as he gripped her breasts, caressing and kneading them. Bilbo's eyes squeezed shut and she groaned; something about the mirror felt like a microscope, their emotions laid bare and her arousal magnified under its lens. Keeping one hand at her chest he dropped the other back down, resuming his ministrations and Bilbo felt her legs shake—she couldn't. She couldn't stay on her feet like this it was too much.

            “Look at me.”

            Bilbo kept her head down, feeling too vulnerable to his gaze. He drove two fingers inside her, curling up and making her gasp.

            “Look at me.”

            Bilbo's eyes fluttered open, their eyes locking onto each other in the mirror as he ruined her. He was pitiless and Bilbo wanted to cry when he released her, but he stepped back just long enough to roll the condom on, his hands coming back to her, this time from behind as he positioned himself, rubbing against her before sliding home.

            They cried out together and he set a brutal pace, faster and more relentless then last night. She was still sensitive but it didn't hurt—her soreness had vanished and everything narrowed to the feel of him driving in and out of her, the feral pleasure twisting his face sending Bilbo over the edge. She dropped to her forearms, unable to hold onto the counter and gave herself over to him completely.

            He bent forward, one arm coming back around to resume its place, stroking her in time with his brutal thrusts and Bilbo was caught, oversensitive flesh wanting to pull away but volcanic arousal driving her mad with need. There was nowhere for her to go—she was caught in a cage of his arms, pinned between his hard burning body behind her and the unforgiving cold counter in front. There was a sound, a strange panting Bilbo had never heard before and she realized it was coming from her; his touch forced moans and her body took over, matching him thrust for thrust—the faster his pace, the harder he moved, the more she wanted. Everything inside her was burning and it terrified her, but she wanted it, she needed it so badly she couldn't think.

            Thorin pounded her into the counter, one hand digging bruises into her hip while the other worked in tandem and Bilbo reached out, hands clawed around the sink as she fought for purchase, her teeth bared and the burning inside her intensified—her body went nuclear and when she exploded she blew apart, screaming long and loud as every nerve fired at once, her muscles quivering around and under him, tears leaking from her eyes. Thorin roared, following close behind, hands spasming as he gripped her in pure unadulterated bliss.

            He slouched over her back, his body keeping hers up as Bilbo panted into the cold marble under her cheek. When he finally moved, they slid to the floor together in a heap of boneless bliss, her body held loosely in his as she tried to remember her name.

            “Well,” Bilbo panted when she could finally see straight again. “That was something.”

 

            It wasn't dignified but Bilbo nodded off right there on the bathroom floor, the contrast between Thorin's heat and the cool floor a delicious cocoon as she waited for the world to stop spinning and her brain to reboot. Somehow they had ended up perpendicular to each other, her legs and feet draped across his torso and Thorin stroked her lazily, his hand running up and down her calf. If they could just stay like this, Bilbo thought, stay in this simple, happy moment it could all be alright.

            “Bilbo,” he said, but she ignored him. His ceaseless energy was obnoxious. She wasn't ready to give up the moment yet.

            “ _Bilbo_ ,” he said again with a little pinch. She kicked him. Lightly.

            “Wake up, Love.”

            “No,” she mumbled. If she woke up the day would start and once the day started they had to find Gandalf and talk about whatever was happening between them and—and Bilbo just wanted to sit still for a moment. His hands were magic, soothing muscles she didn't even know were sore, but there was something different about his touch, something that was nagging at her more than Thorin's constant energy. She couldn't figure it out at first; she wasn't used to morning leg massages or naked conversations on bathroom floors with men who took her breath away, but that wasn't it. No it felt strange because...because...Bilbo jerked her legs back with a cry of alarm— _she hadn't even shaved in days_. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and she looked down, trying to assess the humiliation; they'd been on the run and Beorn had loaned her shorts, and she hadn't had to worry about body hair while she was being kidnapped and threatened and starving but this was—oh lord she _was_ a schoolmarm. She twisted, away from Thorin, her bare ass squeaking on the bathroom floor and Bilbo went from blissfully content to mortified in a heartbeat. Even her toes were hairy. Her _toes_ —maybe, maybe Thorin hadn't noticed? But he snickered, reading every thought on her face and grabbed both ankles and tugged, sliding Bilbo back to him wrapping his arms around her.

            “You know your hairy feet don't bother me don't you?” he whispered in her ear.

            With a cry Bilbo started swinging and they wrestled on the floor; she cheered when she landed a solid knee in his rib, but he retaliated, his body pinning hers as he caught both of her hands in one of his. Thorin, the self-satisfied bastard, smiled down at her and Bilbo's irritation evaporated. She realized she had never seen him smile, not a full on smile in broad daylight; it transformed his face turning harsh, severe features into a playful warmth that made her smile in return. Her emotions ping-ponged again as his smile made her feel something powerful and dangerous. Unwilling to think about that she focused on the way her body responded to him and her legs snaked up and around his hips, the willful tarts operating without her permission.

            “I suppose ceaseless energy has its perks,” Bilbo told him with a sly grin.

           

            It was lunch time before Bilbo finally got out of the bathroom, and she needed a long soak in the tub, followed by an equally long shower—one she insisted taking by herself out of sheer self-preservation—before she could walk upright without wincing. Thorin promised he would only wash her back, but she'd thrown the washcloth in his face and told him to go chop firewood. Words she'd immediately regretted because she wanted to watch the next time he chopped firewood.

            Clean and awake, she found her own clothes cleaned, mended, and folded on the bed and dressed with glee. Thorin was taking his turn in the shower, the water already shutting off by the time Bilbo was dressed and she cursed him and his ability to heal, but blushed when she remembered how handy that quick recovery time had proved more than once this morning. Bilbo couldn't get enough of him and for the millionth time since she woke up, she wondered if any of this was real. Happiness and terror waltzed inside her; soon, very soon, they would have to leave Beorn's and she knew this young, fragile thing between them couldn't last. Thorin and she were from opposite lives and if they all survived this adventure she would return to her life and Thorin to his. If. The memory of fear she felt on the dam was still palpable and Bilbo shivered at the thought of facing Smaug again. A fierce protectiveness bloomed inside of her then; even if Thorin would never be hers to keep, she wanted the Thorin she’d come to know to live in the world and that could never happen so long as Smaug survived. Bilbo _had_ hurt Smaug at the dam; maybe Gandalf's claim that she could destroy him had merit. The thought felt ridiculous but Bilbo would not let Thorin face Smaug again—she couldn’t.

            She sighed and ran fingers through her wet hair. There was nothing for it, she reminded herself; they needed to find Gandalf and the others, and they needed to deal with Smaug. She would destroy Smaug and free Thorin, or she would die trying and either way she had a few more weeks with Thorin. A few weeks, Bilbo told herself sternly; it would be enough. She needed to get this whirlwind of feelings inside her calmed down and stay focused on helping Thorin. Bilbo absolutely refused to watch her friends be hurt again when she could help it.

            “That's a serious sigh.”

            “I was jus—” Bilbo trailed off. Thorin had walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and Bilbo forgot how to breathe, her worries dissipating in breathless wonder. Water still glistened on his skin, droplets beaded crisscrossed scars from battles she couldn't imagine before disappearing behind the towel hanging low on his hips. Bilbo knew what was behind that towel and her mouth watered before she could stop herself.

            “If you keep looking at me like that we're never leaving this room,” Thorin promised.

            Bilbo spun around, becoming very interested in the woodwork around the door as she floundered for solid ground. They absolutely could not spend the entire day in this room, but she absolutely could not think straight when Thorin just stood there...dripping.

            “You are an adorable contradiction Bilbo Baggins,” he chuckled behind her. “Not two hours ago you were looking up at me while you—”

            “I remember very well what I was doing!” she squeaked. “And I remember what you did afterwards thank you very much.”

            “Then why are you blushing now?” She jumped, his voice suddenly in her ear and Bilbo spun, her back against the wall and hand held out in front of her forcing distance.

            “You,” she swallowed around the word. “You stay away.” He had pulled jeans on, but they were unbuttoned and he stood in front of her, a half-naked incubus who made Bilbo want to crawl right back into that bed and to hell with the world.

            “No,” she shook her head, rallying every last bit of her considerable will. “No. You stay over there and I'll stay over here. We are going to leave this room today. We—we have things to do. Plans!”

            “Beorn's not expecting his truck back until tomorrow,” Thorin said, a devilish look on his face. “Unless you want to tell him how we got here, we're stuck on this mountain one more day.” He was stalking her, his bare feet padding across the floor in slow, deliberate steps hemming her in and Bilbo licked her lips, her eyes caught in the thatch of hair peeking out of his jeans. It wasn't like they were going to find Gandalf today and how many more days like this would they have? He pinned her with his arms, her back against the wall as he looked at her slow and hungry, knowing he'd won. Bilbo couldn't seem to catch her breath and she reached for him, fingertips tracing the path of water droplets—

            A knock rattled the door behind her and Bilbo jerked, the harsh sound chilling her overheated nerves.

            “Hate to interrupt,” Beorn's booming voice called to them, “but there are eleven people waiting for you two in the living room.”

            Thorin's face blanked immediately, the stoic front dropping back into place and Bilbo stood still for a moment, shocked by the drastic change. It was like a different man stood in front of her; a man from a week ago. A man who didn’t particularly care about her. He walked away from her, buttoning up his pants and pulling on his shirt and Bilbo slid out the door, nervously running her fingers through her still-wet hair as her forgotten insecurities reasserted themselves over her fizzling arousal. Her brain flooded with questions and confusion as she walked back into the great room, but sure enough, all eleven members of Durin's League awkwardly filled Beorn's house sans Gandalf. Balin was the first to see her, a wide grin splitting his weathered features, and Bilbo oofed as someone picked her up in a bear hug from behind. It was Dwalin; her giant muscled arms squeezing the life out of Bilbo in the single, best hug of Bilbo's life. She blinked rapidly, telling herself the hug had just caught her off-guard was all. But gods it was wonderful to see them all _alive_.

            “Wha—where—HOW?” Bilbo stuttered.

            “We were worried you and Thorin were dead for sure!” Bombur told her, smooshing her into a second hug just as tight as Dwalin's.

            Thorin found them like that, all circled around Bilbo hugging and laughing to see her alive.

            “Thorin!” Fili shouted at his appearance. He and Kili broke away from the throng around Bilbo and threw themselves at their uncle; Thorin let them hold him for a moment, a look of loving suffering on his face as he squeezed each of their shoulders briefly before gently pushing away from them.

            “We were so worried you were both dead!” Kili said. “Gandalf couldn't find you and Oin couldn't sense you. How did you end up here?”

            “Where is Gandalf?” Bilbo asked.

            “Something came up,” Ori shrugged. “Once he finally found you he told us to regroup and head for Elrond's. He'll meet us in a couple of days.”

            Thorin had come up behind Bilbo, not touching her but close enough she felt his strong, steady presence against her back; at Elrond's name he stiffened and Bilbo reached for him instinctively before stopping herself. Minutes ago she would have held Thorin's hand, offered whatever comfort she could even though she still didn't know why Elrond bothered him so much, but it wasn't minutes ago and she was unsure—it seemed inappropriate somehow to act so familiar with Thorin in front of everyone. Everything was different and yet it was all still the same.

            “Well I suspect you'll all be flying down the mountain today then,” Beorn boomed, entering the room with a huge tray full of refreshments. “You'll eat some lunch before you go though right?”

            The League swarmed the tray hungrily, no one showing surprise at Beorn's words, but Bilbo's heart thumped in her neck. “We'll be what?”

            “Flying back down the mountain,” Beorn told her with a wink. “You don't think I bought your story about hiking did you?”

            “You knew?” Bilbo asked him. “This whole time?”

            “Well,” Beorn chuckled, setting the tray down and making his way to Bilbo, “I knew no one hikes this far up the mountain. I didn't ask because it didn't matter overmuch—your business was your own. You were hurt and seemed a good sort. But Gandalf cleared everything up last night.”

            “Gandalf was here last night?” Thorin asked, a strange note in his voice.

            “Only for a moment,” Beorn said. “We run into each other occasionally so I didn't think much about it, but I was surprised to find he was looking for you.”

            “I don't even know why I'm surprised,” Bilbo shook her head.

            “Eat something lass,” Balin told her. “We need to get going if we're going to make it to Elrond's today. You two got yourselves plenty far from the city, that's for certain.”

            “We are not going to Elrond's.”

            Thorin's words were like a bomb in the room—the low ruckus of eating and conversation ground to a halt as everyone looked up at Thorin's stormy gaze with wariness.

            Bilbo swallowed, trying to choose her words with care. What she wouldn't give for smiling Thorin to come back. “But Gandalf said—”

            “Is Gandalf here?” Thorin asked her. His voice had gone cold, icy control making his words bite.

            “Where else can we go Thorin?” Balin asked him. “The penthouse is compromised and we need to regroup. We need somewhere to plan our next move.”

            “The tunnels.”

            “Oh no,” Balin shook his head. “We're not welcome there and you know it.”

            “What are the tunnels?” Bilbo asked.

            “The people who live under the city,” Kili told her quietly.

            “They have no love for Smaug Corp,” Thorin said.

            “But maybe less love for you,” Balin said quietly.

            “That was a long time ago.” There was a strange undertone to Thorin's voice, the conversation laden with meanings Bilbo couldn't understand.

            “What happened?” she asked.

            “Nothing,” Thorin brushed her off. Bilbo reared back slightly, feeling dismissed.

            “Elrond is expecting us,” Balin said again. “His realm is situated in the city and it's protected. Our best bet is to go there and you know it.”

            “I put up with Elrond because Bilbo needed to be healed and trained, but we don't need his help anymore,” Thorin bit off. “We'll go to the tunnels.”

            “Don't be a stubborn ass!” Balin snapped, his temper sparking.

            “If you want to be a puppet for Elrond go right ahead,” Thorin growled back. “I'm no man's slave.”

            Thorin grabbed Bilbo's hand and stormed out of the room, dragging her behind him. He pulled them both through the door roughly, putting some distance between them and the house and Bilbo realized he meant to take off. Digging her heels into the soft ground she pulled back, yanking her hand out of his grip, looking at Thorin through a haze of hurt and confusion.

            “What is wrong with you?” she asked him softly.

            “Come on Bilbo,” he snapped. “It's a long way back to the city.”

            “Gandalf said we should go to Elrond's.”

            “Fuck Elrond!” Thorin roared and Bilbo stepped back, more worried than angry.

            “Thorin,” she said. “Thorin talk to me.”

            He started pacing in front of her, one hand ripping through his hair in aggravation. He looked caged and cornered despite standing in the open mountain air.

            “I'm sorry,” he finally said quietly. “But now—I can't talk about this now. I'm asking you to trust me on this Bilbo. After—after everything. Do you trust me?”

            No, a small corner of Bilbo's mind whispered, but she shut it up viciously. This was Thorin—of course she trusted him. He'd saved her multiple times now; they'd fought side-by-side and escaped Smaug together. There was nothing he worried about more than the safety of Durin's League.

            Nothing except his need for revenge, that small corner reminded her.

            Bilbo ignored herself, making the choice to have faith in Thorin. “Of course I trust you.”

            “Then come with me to the tunnels.”

            Bilbo stepped forward into his arms as Balin and the others walked out the door behind them. Thorin took off and Balin's curse was lost in the rush of wind.


	10. Sanctuary

They soared with a speed that ripped through the air and left conversation impossible; Thorin held her solidly, keeping her pushed up along his side. She had wrapped herself around him for warmth and maybe because she was still a little terrified; her body refused to process flying as a natural state no matter how many times it happened and she gave up the tough act when they dropped a hundred feet in a second to avoid a flock of demon geese. A completely reasonable and understandable shriek erupted and Bilbo’s arms tightened around Thorin's neck, squeezing with enough force to choke a lesser man. He only chuckled and held her tighter, spinning them in the air like the soulless bastard he was. Letting loose a string of words she didn't know she knew, Bilbo realized how much she’d missed his chuckle even though this morning was mere hours ago; with resuming their quest, Bilbo was afraid he’d also resume his cold distance from her. Standing outside arguing with Thorin about their next move Bilbo had felt more exposed and vulnerable than she had when he was inside her—it was irrational, but she was starting to think irrational was the norm where Thorin Oakenshield was concerned. She didn’t understand her magnetic attraction to him, but she knew what to do with it. But talking to him? Being his friend? That was just as much of a mystery now as it was when they first arrived at Beorn’s. She trusted him—she refused not to trust him—but Bilbo worried that even after everything he still saw her as more of a liability than an equal companion.

So she held herself stiffly in his embrace, torn between wanting to bury her face in his neck and worrying he would think her a person with some strange sniffing fetish; Thorin shifted his grip, one warm, solid hand flattening against the top of her back while the other came around and settled under the curve of her ass holding her securely, urging her to relax against him. She could feel his strong steady pulse beat and she lost the battle, letting her body ease into his. Her head dipped, resting on his shoulder and she took a deep breath, letting his presence soothe her. Nose buried in the crook of his neck Bilbo admitted maybe she did have a sniffing fetish, but she forgave herself; he did smell amazing. He seemed to warm all her senses at once and Bilbo couldn't get enough. She wondered if she would ever get enough. She breathed in again, her breath fanning across his skin with every exhale and Thorin's arms squeezed, hugging her to him. Bilbo supposed that meant it was okay if she sniffed him all the way home. Oh what a strange and unexpected thing her life had become.

            She was feeling foolish for second guessing him earlier; yes he was fighting for revenge and not righteousness, but he knew more about this strange world of special powers and beings than Bilbo. She had spent the entirety of her life repressing her gifts and ignoring her heritage. What did she know about running from Smaug or hiding in tunnels? She trusted Elrond—he had saved her and trained her, but if Thorin didn't want to go there to regroup he had to have a reason. Maybe not the _best_ reason—Bilbo was well acquainted with Thorin's capacity for stubbornness—but it was a reason worth hearing. If Thorin said these tunnels were a better place to regroup and rest then Bilbo would believe in him. She would follow where he led so long as she was a part of this crazy league of superheroes, however long that may be.

            Well, Bilbo knew almost exactly how long that would be didn’t she. Her heart thudded and she clutched him tighter on instinct. It didn't matter, she reminded herself; there was no guarantee she would even survive facing Smaug. Being held like this, sharing casual intimacy with Thorin, the crushing hugs from Dwalin and Bombur all made her want to believe there could be an after; she wanted desperately to stay with these people because she already loved them. But that didn't matter and Bilbo was too practical to lie to herself. There was no life for her with Durin's League. She was no superhero; she couldn't spend her life between danger, waiting for her friends to not come home. Bilbo knew how much it would hurt to say goodbye—she was too far gone. Maybe she had been from the moment she first woke up in Thorin’s bed. They had changed her; Thorin had changed her, but all would run its course and Bilbo's only choice was to leave with dignity. The only thing worse than Thorin saying goodbye would be her begging him to let her stay; she would do anything, say anything to keep him but the vision of crouching on her knees begging him through sobs not to make her go was too terrible, too horrifying. No. Bilbo Baggins had this, this one slice of time with him, and it was enough. It would have to be enough.

            They flew for hours at an easy pace, the ground sliding by below them. As they came out of the mountains, the city was only a smudge on the horizon. The rest of the League had caught up; Kili, flying behind, matched their pace easily. Bifur carried Bofur and Bombur appeared every now again as she leapt through the forest below. Bilbo knew Fili would be running at near impossible speeds while Nori used the wind and Dori propelled himself with his powers of magnetism, Ori riding the earth itself between them. Gloin telekenetically carried himself, Dwalin, Balin. They were an impressive group and Bilbo was shocked anew at their capability; all this power in one team, a group who had lived and fought alongside each other until they were family. She was proud to know them and this time, when that same fierce protectiveness swelled for her newfound friends she was ready for it. She would face a dragon for these people—ordinary was waiting for her when this was done, but in this moment, in this adventure, Bilbo Baggins would be extraordinary. For them.

           

            They entered the city quick and silent with dusk. Thorin veered away from downtown, following the river winding through dying neighborhoods and broken warehouses into Old Town. The dirt and grime wasn't visible up here, but the architecture was, and Bilbo caught her breath at the sight. She'd never spent much time in Old Town, no one did anymore; it was riddled with crime, corruption, and stubborn families who refused to give in to either. But it was beautiful. A sweeping cathedral jutted above the old stone buildings crumbling under the preserved distraction of the historical society. Brownstones dotted the streets, the age and history of the structures more visible than the bars on the windows and age and memory rose from the streets in a palpable wave that demanded respect despite the ruin. It was a beautiful way to see the city.

            Thorin dropped, landing lightly on a roof that didn't seem especially unique and the League filled in around them. Clothes were drying haphazardly on casually tied cords as if someone had hung them long ago and left them to the wind. Some lawn furniture was huddled around a fire pit and a charcoal grill leaned brokenly in one corner. Bilbo let go as they landed and wobbled a moment on her feet before following Thorin to a rickety door leading down into the gloom of the building. The others trickled in behind her; Bilbo followed Thorin's footsteps slowly, the wary faces and uncertainty of the others impossible to ignore.

            The stairwell light was burnt out, but weak sunlight showed dust motes and stained walls as it leaked through dirty windows. Thorin headed down the stairs at a quick pace and Bilbo struggled to keep up without stumbling in the gloom. She could have sworn the building wasn't more than twelve or thirteen stories high, but she couldn't see the ground floor even after they tromped down flight after flight. The lights started working sometime after Bilbo lost count of the stairs and the walls became cleaner, but everything was still standard eggshell hallway; the strangest thing was how the stairwell was closed off from the rest of the building—no doors appeared or red exit signs broke the monotony. Still Thorin ate up the stairs in front of her, moving with the surety of a man that couldn't trip and break his neck. Bilbo repressed the urge to yell at him.

            Down they went flight after flight; she hoped he realized he would be carrying her back up all these stairs. Bilbo hated stairs and this weird, never-ending stairwell was starting to feel like her own personal road to hell; staring at Thorin's perfectly mussed, annoyingly attractive hair Bilbo began hurling silent invectives at his back to distract her from the growing pain in her legs. She started at the top of his stupid head and had worked her way down to his stupidly perfect chest hair when they turned a corner and her curses disappeared with a gasp. The stairs opened into the edge of acavern; the smooth stone walls echoed with sound and Bilbo chewed her lip as she looked around. Two weeks ago she wouldn't have believed this could exist under the city, but now it wasn’t unbelievable it was simply magnificent.

            The cavern was immense, far larger than the building above them and Bilbo realized there must have been some kind of concealing spell at work. The rock floor was smooth, almost polished and it sloped down gently into a giant lake—the water lapping quietly against the rock and making the whole cavern a giant amphitheater. Far, far off in the shadows Bilbo could see twinkling lights, so faint she almost doubted herself, but as the League tromped through the opening behind her, she saw them all looking in the same direction.

            “Now what?” Bilbo whispered.

            “Now you tell us what you're doing here or we kill you where you stand.”

            Everyone spun forming a circle with their backs to each other, but they were already surrounded. A group of ten or so people had appeared from the rocks behind them, cutting off their escape and between blinks ten more suddenly stood between them and the lake. Some carried weapons but her attention focused on the ones who held bare hands out in front of them; she'd spent enough time with Durin's League to know the most dangerous weapons were the ones she couldn't see.

            “We've come seeking sanctuary,” Balin announced in a clear, calm voice.

            “We offer sanctuary to all in our walls,” the same cold voice said, “and you are all welcome. Except him.”

            A figure detached from the group, stepping forward with a single-finger pointed directly at Thorin.

            “These tunnels were declared haven for _all_ running from Smaug long ago,” Balin countered. “You cannot turn away any who are being hunted.”

            “Thorin Oakenshield has never been hunted,” the man said. “He has always been the hunter.”

            “How dare you!” Nori said, starting forward, but Thorin stopped him with one hand on his shoulder.

            “I haven't hunted anyone but Smaug and his monsters for a long time,” Thorin said quietly. “You know that better than anyone Bard.”

            “Last time I saw you, you were one of those monsters,” Bard countered.

            Bilbo gasped. Anger swelled inside her and she moved to defend Thorin before Dwalin stopped her with one muscular hand on her shoulder and a sharp nod. Swallowing her rage Bilbo stopped herself, but she felt the familiar prickle of power in her fingertips as her energy rose to the surface.

            “I am here,” Thorin said, “of my own freewill. We were attacked by Smaug. We need a place to rest and plan, that is all.”

            “It isn't your place to deny them haven,” a second figure said, challenging Bard.

            “I protect this sanctuary,” Bard replied, never taking his eyes off Thorin.

            “You protect it, but you don't run it,” the figure argued.

            It was curious—while Bard seemed to be their enemy and this new figure a friend, Bilbo found herself far more disturbed by the one arguing in their favor. She worried momentarily it was pure shallowness; Bard had striking features, more interesting than handsome but he held himself with a confidence that made Bilbo think of fashion models—albeit the grouchy and disgruntled ones. But this other man resembled something like a weasel; where Bard stood tall and held Thorin's stare, this new person was hunched, his gun clutched in clawed hands that shook slightly. His eyes were yellow and darted around, never focusing on any of them too long; there was something calculating in his gaze Bilbo didn't like. Bard's distrust was apparent and honest; Bilbo wasn't sure she liked him, but she didn't fear him. At the least their conversation had seemed straightforward without subtext. Every time their new “ally” spoke it made her skin crawl; his words honey laced with arsenic. It was very strange to like the person who so obviously disliked them more than the one who appeared to be helping, but Bilbo guessed there were politics at work here, politics that had nothing to do with Thorin or the rest of them—their group merely provided an excuse for whatever silent battle now waged.

            The other figures surrounding them began wavering, guns and hands dropping as people began whispering amongst themselves. Weasel-man looked like he had won which Bilbo supposed was good for them, but she couldn’t be happy about it. After a long silence Bard spun away, stalking to the lake with barely leashed emotion. Weasel-man's face split in a cold, slimy smile, his tongue running across yellowed teeth as he eyed Bilbo and the League.

            “Please find Sanctuary within our walls friends,” he said, his clawed hands sketching some strange mockery of a bow in the air. “Welcome to Laketown.”

           

            The people of Laketown insisted no one could enter except by the rickety barge hidden in the shadows. Despite a plethora of superpowers that could have transported them all across the lake easily, the League agreed to the conditions, splitting up into three groups. Bilbo and Thorin waited with the last group and Bilbo couldn't stop second-guessing their choice to come here; it wasn't that she thought anyone planned to actively hurt them precisely—though she didn't trust the weasel at all—but while some people looked at she and her friends with curiosity or disinterest, some gasped in abject terror when they saw Thorin. The pain, the _horror_ in their gaze when they saw him broke Bilbo's heart; Balin's objection to coming here was seeming more and more reasonable. It was more than simply being unwelcome—Thorin's presence was upsetting people in ways Bilbo started to think should have been avoided.

            When their turn finally came to cross, she wondered if they were taking the barge for reasons she hadn't considered; there was power radiating from this place, like the stairwell and building that looked normal from the outside she realized the unwary swimmer (or flier) might find themselves in a seemingly endless expanse of water. Now that she was paying attention she could feel an electric charge in the air—barely there, but enough to make her skin itch the longer she was exposed to it. Their barge seemed to be taking a narrow path along the water, invisible walls pushing in from both sides. It was unnerving and the longer they were on the water the more Bilbo began to feel trapped and claustrophobic; she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to remember she was surrounded by friends.

            As the twinkling lights grew closer, though, the trapped feeling lessened and she was finally able to focus on the scenery glowing in the darkness; she had to admit it was beautiful. It didn't seem so much constructed as _grown_ and Bilbo felt her breath catch at the sight. The rock flowed smoothly up out of the water into rounded walls and glowing windows that seemed anything but cold and hard; everything glowed with a warmth and homeliness that defied the looming dark rock surrounding them. Individual buildings began to distinguish themselves as they docked, but Bilbo thought they all looked connected, as if each building was formed in one giant brushstroke that had molded itself to the artist's vision.

            “It's amazing,” Bilbo whispered.

            “My finest creation,” Ori answered, his face filled with reverence.

            “You created this?” she asked. She knew he could control the earth but _this_...

            “My brothers and I are born of nature,” Ori said simply. “I can control the earth—her dirt, her rock, even her magma and once, long, long ago, I built a city for those with nowhere else to go.”

            “Ori,” Bilbo breathed, “it's beautiful.”

            “It is, isn't it.”

            “Why did you build it?”

            She thought it was an innocent question, but Ori stiffened, his gaze darting from the masterpiece in front of them back to Thorin. “Some other time.”

            Bilbo wanted to press; there was history here, some large part of the League's history—of _Thorin's_ history—that everyone knew but her and it was driving her crazy, but they were on a barge surrounded by strangers and Bilbo knew now was not the time. The moment was a painful reminder that for all the intimacy she had shared with Thorin they were still functionally strangers.

            Bard stayed silent and close, walking just behind Thorin as they docked and disembarked. The outer wall was solid rock, encircling the town with a door of thick rock cut out of it. It swung open as they approached and they entered the city through a long tunnel, easily fifty feet long. Judging by the windows and lights as they approached, Bilbo guessed people lived in the wall as well as the buildings she had spotted beyond. The tunnel opened up and sounds of the city above ground echoed distantly. She looked up; there was a checkered pattern of air vents cut into the rock above them. They were led down a series of twisting streets to a building on the outskirts of town, the solid rock wall rising and curving over their heads into the shadows.

            “You and your friends should be comfortable here,” Bard told them. “There will be guards posted at all times.”

            “There is no need for that,” Thorin ground out.

            “There was the last time you were here,” Bard said darkly. “Some of you will have to share rooms, but I trust such venerable heroes as Durin's League will manage.”

            There was no sarcasm in his tone, no verbal indication Bard was anything but sincere, but Bilbo felt the sneer. Thorin bristled behind her, and Balin stepped forward, thanking Bard before turning to practically shove Thorin through the door. Everyone filed in behind, silent and uncomfortable, sneaking meaningful glances at each other that left Bilbo feeling more lost and alone.

            The room was large and spacious, an island on one side framing the kitchen space while a battered but well-kept table and chairs stood on the other. She folded herself into the corner between counters, fighting for patience; whatever had happened here was more than a falling out. There was real tragedy and it was clearly leaving everyone lost and unsure how to act. She needed to wait and ask Thorin when they were alone, but a sigh from Fili met with a shrug from Kili nearly had her screaming for an explanation right then.

            “Everyone go find a room and bunk up for the night,” Balin ordered. His tone was sharp, cracking each and every one of them into immediate action, but Bilbo lurked in the corner awkwardly, waiting for something, anything, from Thorin to show he hadn't forgotten her. Giving up finally, she started to sidle along the edge of the room, heading slowly for the door while Thorin kept staring out the window, his back to the room.

            “I told you not to come here,” Balin snapped suddenly and Bilbo froze. “I told you not to come and you did it anyway. You knew how they felt about you. Bard told you to leave and never come back. You've got no place acting surprised and insulted at how they're treating us.”

            “I saved most of their lives,” Thorin said with quiet intensity.

            “You saved most of their lives from _yourself_.”

            “I broke Smaug's mind control!” Thorin roared.

            “Not before you killed half their families and nearly destroyed this place!” Balin yelled back.

            Bilbo didn't know she'd gasped audibly until the attention of both men snapped to her, their widening eyes telling her they had forgotten she was there.

            “I didn't,” Bilbo whispered through her fingers, “I'm sorry.”

            She spun on her heel and scurried for the door; she wanted to know, need to know, but not like this. Bilbo didn't want to eavesdrop on Thorin's most intimate details—it was invasive and wrong and she had no right. She raced out of the kitchen but froze in the hallway, at a loss where to go. An empty corridor opened up in front of her, closed doors breaking the monotony of rock every five feet or so and a staircase spiraled up and away on her right, presumably to more rooms. The silence told her everyone else had found a room and barricaded themselves inside it, but Bilbo suddenly realized she didn't know where she belonged. Would she stay with Dwalin and Bombur again? Or Thorin? What did Thorin want? What did she?

            Strong, warm hands encased her cold ones wringing in front of her—it was a nervous habit Bilbo never seemed to break, but she looked up into Thorin's heavy gaze and let him entwine her fingers with his own. He offered nothing and Bilbo didn't ask as he started up the stairs, pulling her behind him.

            Balin's outburst faded as they climbed the stairs, Bilbo's breathing labored by the time they reached the top—her superhero training hadn't included a StairMaster. Thorin's breathing was slow and easy and Bilbo fought to keep her gasping silent, embarrassed by her inability to accomplish the most mundane physical activities when so many more important things demanded her attention. Why did she think she could help any of them when she couldn't even climb four flights of stairs without wanting to rest for an hour after each step. She was exhausted, sore, overwhelmed, and unsure.

            The top floor was smaller than the rest, stone walls coming in at an angle to form a domed roof leaving a single room up here. None of the others had ventured to the top floor yet, and Thorin pulled Bilbo through the door, shutting it firmly behind them. It was a plain room, a bed and dresser filled the sparse space and Bilbo stood awkwardly by the wall while Thorin began pacing back and forth in front of her.

            “I don't want to talk about it,” he finally said. His head was bowed, body turned away from her and Bilbo stayed silent.

            “I know you're probably confused,” he went on after a long pause. “I know. But I don't want to talk about it.”

            Bilbo wanted to say the right thing, the magic combination of words that would let him know she was still here, still his. She wanted him to know she understood, that mind-control was a kind of invasion, a kind of rape and he wasn't to blame. It was Smaug's fault, not his. Never his. She wanted to tell him all of that, but she choked on the words—they felt trite and wrong. In the end she could only whisper one thing.

            “Thorin.”

            He spun at his name and in two steps he was on her, his larger body crushing hers into the wall as his mouth came down hard—Bilbo was caught off guard, her hands trapped between their bodies as he devoured her. She let herself go soft against him, giving in to the desperation of his kiss and when he came up for air she wrapped her fingers in his shirt, holding him to her while her head rested against his chest.

            “Thorin,” she said. “Talk to me.”

            “I don't want to talk about it!” he roared, spinning away and breaking her hold.

            Bilbo stumbled, her balance thrown by the sudden loss of his presence and she stared helplessly while he paced again in front of her, caged and slightly rabid. She could see his fraying control in the way he buried his hands in his hair or how he ground his jaw as if holding himself together through sheer force of will.

            “Thorin,” she started again, working to keep the emotion out of her voice, to stay calm and steady. She could compromise. She could talk to Balin or Ori—someone could tell her what she needed to know and it didn't have to be Thorin; she wouldn't ask him to relive this, but she needed his permission.

            “ _I_ _slaughtered them_!” Thorin screamed. “I slaughtered them. Whole families—I rippedthem apart with my bare hands. I tore through their flesh like it was tissue paper. I can remember. Every snap of bone. The way their blood sprayed all...I was covered. I was covered in the blood of people I murdered. I...I—I was covered in the blood of their children.”

            He ended on a broken whisper, standing with his back to her and his hands help up in front of him—a physical confession of his sins. Bilbo was frozen, one hand up over her mouth as she tried to process what he was saying. She didn't blame him; it wasn't his fault. It had neverbeen his fault, but it was so horrible, so _evil_.

            “The ones I murdered were lucky.”

            He was so quiet Bilbo worried she hadn't heard right.

            “We took...we took prisoners.”

            It was a broken whisper, the memories holding him hostage. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees. When he finally looked at her the words were too terrible, too awful to speak out loud. She knew. Gollum. The monsters they had fought. The creatures at the dam. Speaking it had summoned the memories and the pain was still fresh and overwhelming; it was plain on his face as his control shattered. The monster he had been—the monster he still believed he was—were words he didn't have to say.

            Bilbo took one halting step forward, wanting to touch him again, to reassure him he wasn't that person anymore. His hands dropped and he caved in on himself, shoulders, head, and body curling in as he broke apart in front of her. She was next to him in an instant, her sudden indecision eclipsed by the need to hold him. She dropped down next to him and wrapped herself around him, trying to hold him together with her arms.

            “Bilbo,” he choked, halfheartedly trying to pull away while his fingers gripped her tight. She simply held on, her strength keeping them both together like his had after her own nightmares at Beorn's. His face was buried in her shoulder and he made no sound, no movement, but she could feel where his tears soaked through her shirt and she squeezed tighter, whispering to him over and over again, trying to ground him with her voice.

            “It's not your fault,” she told him. “It's not your fault—it's Smaug's. He did this. He did it to you and he did it to them. It's not your fault. I promise Thorin, I love you. It's not your fault. I love you.”

            She didn't know what she was staying; she was only focused on soothing Thorin, letting him know this wasn't his fault. The story was too terrible, so much worse than she feared. Visions of Thorin, covered in the blood and gore of children he had ripped apart—families he had _tortured_ —assaulted her, but she knew who to blame. Smaug was a monster and she was going to destroy him. Gandalf had asked her to fight for the world. Thorin had asked her to fight for the League. But now she was fighting for herself. Now she was fighting for every innocent Smaug had corrupted, slaughtered, and destroyed. Including Thorin.

            They stayed like that for a long time, long enough Bilbo's feet fell asleep beneath her and her knees started to ache, but she didn't move, didn't let him go. Even though he just knelt there, silent and hurting, she held him. She didn't know what she could do, didn't know if she could do anything; she could only hope this helped. She hoped this was something, even if it wasn't enough—could never be enough.

            “Stay.” It was more a question than anything, his voice hoarse and broken, so quiet Bilbo almost missed it. Almost but not quite.

            “Always.”

           


	11. To the Doorstep

When Bilbo woke she was wrapped up with Thorin so completely she wasn't sure how to disentangle herself without waking him. They'd said nothing else after his confession—exhausted and strung out Bilbo released Thorin only long enough to get ready for bed, but in sleep her hand had snaked up under his shirt, palm flat against his chest and fingers splayed out across his warm skin. He had one hand buried in her hair, keeping her crushed against him while the other latched onto her arm half-covered by his own shirt, holding her tight. Their limbs were twined with each other; one of Bilbo's legs was slung across his hips with her foot caught between his thighs. She moved experimentally and he groaned, arms and legs tightening their hold in sleep. Bilbo had dreamt of waking up this way—yearned for it actually, but it never occurred to her she’d wake up desperate to use the bathroom.

            He shifted as she freed herself, a frown pulling at his mouth and Bilbo leaned back down to kiss his brow, smoothing his hair before walking away. She thought the rock floors would be cold against her bare feet, but they weren't—whether from actual magic or magical engineering the stone was warm and soft against her calloused soles; there was a low light as well, easing the oppressive darkness that came from being underground. Bilbo couldn't guess what time it was, but it had to be late; there was an eerie silence, the glowing windows dark when she looked out at the city from the stairwell. She wandered awhile, discovering the only bathroom in their little rental was on the ground floor off the kitchen. Passing the stairs she wondered into the kitchen, her thoughts consumed with Thorin.

            _Thorin, Thorin, Thorin, Thorin_ her brain repeated like some masochistic skipping record. She had felt numb and exhausted and sad when he'd finally told her. No, not told she realized—confessed. She hadn't lied; she didn't think any of it was his fault. It _wasn't_ his fault. But how could he come back here? Now that Bilbo understood the magnitude of what had happened she wondered why no one stoppedhim; Balin had tried she admitted, but had he tried hard enough? As terrible as it would have been for all of them to take a stand against this idea, against Thorin, wouldn't that have been better? Whatever Elrond did, however terrible it must have been, did Thorin's pain trump that of these people? When they'd walked through the streets earlier the faces Bilbo had seen—the abject horror when curious onlookers recognized him—Bilbo couldn't believe the League allowed him to come back here. Whatever Thorin said they _were_ heroes—or were supposed to be anyway. How could he justify forcing the people of Laketown, people that had already suffered so much first in being driven away from their world and then at the hands of Smaug, to accept his presence here when Elrond was expecting them?

            Bilbo felt the first real crack in her faith in Thorin crack and it terrified her.

            “Bilbo?”

            She spun in the dark doorway, shocked at the voice behind her. “Kili! You scared me.”

            “Sorry.”

            “It's okay,” she waved it off. “Couldn't sleep either?”

            “Yeah.” He shrugged and Bilbo moved, letting him lead the way into the kitchen. There was something about him, something about his mood that went beyond insomnia or waking up in a strange place. Something familiar...

            “Oh _Kili_ ,” she whispered before she could stop herself. “Not you too.”

            He let out a humorless chuckle, attention focused on the faucet. “Guess that means someone told you.”

            “Not—that is, I didn't know you were here too,” she told him. “I thought it was only Thorin.”

            “Yeah Fili and I wore masks then,” Kili said strangely. “So no one knows it was us. But I do.”

            “Why did any of you let Thorin bring us all here?” Bilbo didn't realize how accusatory her tone was until she saw Kili tense in front of her.

            “Thorin _saved_ us,” he told her tightly. “All of us. We go where he says.”

            “So you just follow him blindly?” Bilbo belatedly realized she needed to back off. She wanted to offer comfort and understanding to Kili and the rest, wanted nothing more in the world than to feel the way she felt this morning when she still trusted Thorin implicitly. But coming here, placing their needs above the people of Laketown, it was too much.

            “We go where he says,” Kili said again sounding exhausted, and Bilbo was sorry for her outburst. “And as much as they hate him, Thorin's right—Smaug and his men will never find us here. It's a good place to regroup”

            “Was it, was it just the three of you? The three of you that were...were under Smaug's control?”

            “Yeah. Just us.”

            They were quiet awhile; Kili filled a glass with water and handed it to her before turning back and filling one for himself. Bilbo followed him to the table, sitting across from him without comment as they both stared out the window. The air was cool and still, a light breeze circulating through the cavern. Lights twinkled in places, and the whole city glowed with that same eerie low light.

“What did Smaug want with this place?”

“Smaug's a...collector. Of sorts,” Kili told her. “He collects people. Special people.”

            “That's monstrous.”

            “He's a monster,” he shrugged. “And those he doesn't want for himself he wants to destroy.”

            “ _Why?_ ” Bilbo could feel the rage coalescing inside her—all the frustration, pain, and heartbreak building and channeling into anger. No one deserved that. And these people didn't deserve _this_. Again that same sense of wrongness pushed down on her. They shouldn't have come here; they should be fighting for these people not terrorizing them even more with their presence. She looked back up at Kili, ready to make him understand they needed to leave, needed to go to Elrond but Kili was oblivious to her churning emotions, too locked inside his own.

            “We were sent in to burn this place to the ground,” he said in a faraway voice. “Smaug couldn't touch it—Gandalf and Elrond guarded this place with magic he couldn’t break through. Not everyone can hide their difference right? It's not like walking around covered in spikes is great at a job interview so people needed a place to go. A safe place to go. Especially after folks started disappearing and the name 'Smaug' started making the news. None of us knew, at first. None of us knew they were evil.”

            His words tore at Bilbo's heart and she remembered a long ago conversation with Balin, a conversation that felt like it was years ago instead of weeks: _they thought they'd landed a summer job_.

            “Anyway,” Kili said after another pause, “with the three of us, Thorin, Fili, and I, Smaug figured he could expand his ranks. We were the first in a plan to build an army of fighters with superpowers. But we slowed that fucker down.” The viciousness of his words made Bilbo sit back; she’d never seen this side of Kili.

            “It slowed him down when you...when you broke free?”

            “Yeah. It was a big fight,” Kili let go a bitter chuckle. “Gandalf and Elrond freed Fili and I, but Thorin...Thorin freed himself. He and Dwalin nearly killed each other before he did.”

            Kili ended on a whisper and Bilbo wondered if he meant to say that out loud.

            “You know we got in by claiming sanctuary? Just like earlier. We got in, we scoped the place out and then...then we murdered everyone who wasn't what Smaug wanted. I'm surprised they got the stains out of the rock. Ori probably helped.”

            Bilbo didn't smile, but she didn't think Kili really wanted her to. He turned in his seat, pinning her with eyes that were haunted by shadows he kept hidden behind an easy smile and casual demeanor.

            “Smaug really wanted kids. Kids are easier to manipulate. He liked to remind Fili and I of that.”

            Bilbo felt her throat close and wished desperately she could tell Kili to stop. Wished she could throw her hands over her ears and scream until she woke up from this nightmare.

            “It's funny,” he said suddenly, looking away from her again. “When we all woke up in that warehouse my only thought was just...finally. Finally he’ll kill us and this will all be over.”

            “No Kili,” Bilbo said. “It wasn't your fault.”

            “Doesn't feel that way,” Kili said into his water.

            “Kili,” Bilbo said after a moment, his name dying in the dark air as she considered her words. How did she ask this, how could she possibly ask for another piece of this terrible story? But she needed to know. She needed to understand.

“Why does Thorin hate Elrond?”

            Bilbo sat up, shocked he had guessed it. “How did you know?”

            “Because it's the only part of the story that's left,” he shrugged. “I don't know. Not really. Elrond, I mean Gandalf and Elrond, got Smaug out of our heads, but it was different with Thorin. I don't...I don't really know what happened. But I’m pretty sure that’s why Thorin hates him. Or at least, part of it.”

            Bilbo reached across the table suddenly and grabbed Kili's hands. “Kili, Kili look at me. This is not your fault. What Smaug did to you is not your fault.”

            Kili stared at their joined hands a long time before finally looking up at her with a smile that just barely touched his eyes. “I'm glad Thorin crashed into your apartment Bilbo Baggins.”

            “Me too,” she whispered.

            The moment passed and they withdrew to their sides of the table. Kili rose first, walking back to the sink and gently setting his glass down inside it. Bilbo wished him a good night but stopped when she saw him stop in the doorway.

            “You should know,” he said haltingly. “If—if you and Thorin are close you should know. Smaug...can you imagine having someone...I mean he was _inside us_. Our bodies, our minds, and I just…he ruined us. I didn’t want, I mean I don’t…I don’t think any of us wanted to live again. Not at first. Killing Smaug is…nothing matters to Thorin as much as that. Nothing. When you aren’t sure why—why he makes the choices he does just…remember that.”

            Bilbo said nothing as Kili turned and disappeared into the shadows. She didn't sleep for a very long time.

 

            There was a lot of talking over the next few days. There was a lot of shouting too. Time became measured by pregnant silence between the screaming bouts of Thorin and Balin. Thorin, Fili, and Kili stayed inside, but the inactivity drove them—and everyone near them—crazy; tired of the shouting matches Bilbo steadily retreated farther and farther from the arguments over strategy and planning. She and Thorin were still sharing a bed, but he barely touched her despite Bilbo's attempts at intimacy. He rarely talked to her and when he did it was business. Whatever doubts festered inside her, Bilbo still believed in him, still believed destroying Smaug was the most important thing they could do. She would have listened but Thorin wouldn't talk; she would have held him but he didn't want to be touched. By the third day Bilbo was fed up—trapped, alone, and miserable and her own temper frayed as she listened to Thorin and Balin have the same fight for the umpteenth time.

            “We cannot take down Smaug without Elrond's help!” Balin shouted.

            “I will not go crawling to him on my belly begging for help!” Thorin roared.

            “You're a damned fool!”

            “We can break into Smaug Corp. and get his schedule. Once we have that we only need to set up the ambush,” Thorin growled through clenched teeth.

            “He never travels alone,” Balin shook his head, “and you know that. It's a damned suicide mission. And even if we do catch him alone there's no guarantee we can take Smaug ourselves!”

            “Elrond's never going to help us destroy Smaug,” Thorin said. “He made that clear years ago.”

            “That was then,” Balin pushed. “Things have changed.”

            “How?!” Thorin roared. “Is he here? Do you see him asking to fight with us?”

            “We were supposed to go to him! We were supposed to meet Gandalf and Elrond, and you chose to come back to Laketown!”

            “WILL YOU BOTH SHUT UP!”

            The sudden silence was deafening as everyone slowly turned their heads to look at Dwalin.

            “This is getting us _nowhere_ ,” she said. Her voice was even, but Bilbo felt the frustration and anger simmering below her words. “Bombur and I will take Bilbo to Smaug Corp. She'll break in and get us the breakdown on Smaug's plans. Once we have that we can plan our next move.”

            Bilbo heard herself swallow as eyes shifted from Dwalin to her. The plan made her heart leap into her throat, but she didn’t say no. She wanted to be useful—needed to help, and she could do this.

            “Absolutely not,” Thorin dismissed the idea with a wave.

            Bilbo jerked, feeling like she’d just been swatted away. “What? Why?”

            “You're not trained in espionage. You'll just get yourself caught,” he said. “Now if we—”

            “Bilbo can make herself invisible,” Bombur interrupted. “That makes up for a lot when you're trying to steal something.”

            “Bilbo doesn't like to use that power,” Thorin said, “Gandalf told me it was only a last resort.”  
            “Bilbo is sitting right here,” she cut in. “And Bilbo hates it when you talk about her like she's not _sitting right here_.”

            “Do you like turning invisible?” Thorin asked, a condescending note sneaking into his tone.

            “No but—”

            “There,” he cut her off. “Now—”

            “I'm sorry did you just make a decision for me?” Bilbo spoke over him. “A decision based on whether or not _I_ likesomething?”

            “Bilbo now is not the time,” Thorin warned her.

            “Time for what?” she asked. “Time for me to have an opinion? Time for me to be treated like a real member of this party? Or time for you to stop treating me like I'm just some sort of bed warmer?”

            The room went deathly still.

            “What did you just say?” Thorin asked, dangerously quiet.

            “I said I'm breaking into Smaug Corp and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.”

            It was the first time anyone had ever out-and-out defied Thorin. Full-on-straight-out-no-doubt-about-it defied. Bilbo didn't even fully realize what she'd done until people started easing their way out of the kitchen; Thorin had been a nuclear bomb since they got here and Bilbo had just pressed the detonator.

            He didn't scream, which surprised her. Instead he moved to the other side of the room, putting the table between them and paced along it's outer-edge; Bilbo didn't even realize how much she had expected another yelling match until she felt the tingling in her fingertips that meant she was ready to start firing stings. With a grimace she dismissed the power, ashamed of herself for even considering a physical confrontation.

            “Thorin,” she sighed when he still said nothing. She hadn't meant to challenge his authority, but he was being an ass. Surely he could understand that.

            “Fine,” he said abruptly. He stopped, spinning on his toes to face her, the table still between them—a wall or a shield she didn't know. “You want to break into Smaug Corp you do it. But you do it alone. I won't risk the lives of anyone else on this. If you're so sure of yourself then fine. Prove you're worth something.”

            His words felt like a slap in the face, and Bilbo was moving, shoving her body between him and the kitchen door before he could make some ridiculously dramatic exit.

            “Prove I'm _worth something_?” she hissed in his face. “I saved you. I saved all of you at the dam and you still want me to prove I'm worth something?”

            She was livid; Bilbo couldn't remember the last time she'd lost her temper like this. Some part of her brain tried to warn her, but she ignored it. Days of being ignored, dismissed, and forgotten crowded around her, making her pulse beat at her temples.

            “You going in there is what’s ridiculous!” he finally roared. “You have no training, no invulnerability. Did you hear Smaug that night on the bridge? He's fascinated by you. Do you know what Smaug does with things that fascinate him? _DO YOU?_ ”

            And just like that Bilbo realized why Thorin was being so irrational about this. He was cracking. Thorin was cracking apart and the idea of Smaug getting ahold of her terrified him. What a stupid, emotionally-stunted asshole. Not for the first time Bilbo wondered how she had ever fallen in love with him.

            “You're worried about me.”

            “Of course I'm worried about you!”

            “Then why didn't you just say so.”

            “Because you just accused me of treating you like some sort of—of—”

            “I shouldn't have said that.”

            Her sudden apology deflated him so fast Bilbo felt a sudden, irrational need to giggle.

            “No you shouldn't,” he finally huffed.

            “And you shouldn’t tell me what to do,” she added.

            He stared at her for a moment, his mouth moving silently before concession finally settled in. “Fine.”

            On a gamble Bilbo reached out and hugged him; he stood there stiffly as she wrapped her arms around him, her head finding that spot against his chest that made everything in the world okay. He was tense against her, but after a moment he blew out another sigh and let his own arms come up, encircling her. She wondered if there would ever be a time he shared the burden without a fight.

            “I'll be careful,” she told him. “I won't get caught.”

            “You're really going to do this?” He looked down at her, his gaze probing hers. “I _can_ stop you, you know.”

            “You could try,” she corrected. “And I'd never forgive you.”

            She counted heartbeats while she waited for a response. “I know,” he sighed. “Neither would anyone else. But Bilbo…don’t get caught. Please don’t get caught.”

            “We need more information,” she said. “Whatever I can get from Smaug Corp is better than what we have now and once we have that we can find Gandalf and Elrond—”

            He tensed up again at Elrond's name, but didn't shove her away. “Bilbo.”

            “Yes?”

            “I need you to promise me two things,” Thorin said. “Two things that no matter what— _no matter what—_ you will never do.”

            “What are they,” she asked cautiously.

            “Under no circumstances are you to seek out Elrond behind my back,” he said.

            It was a strange request and one Bilbo wasn't sure she agreed with, but it seemed reasonable enough; she certainly understood not wanting to be lied to or manipulated after everything he’d gone through. Besides it wasn’t like she was afraid of duking it out with him verbally. “Okay.”

            “And you are never to engage Smaug. _Never_. I know what Gandalf told you. I know he thinks you’re the only one that can kill him. But you can’t Bilbo. Promise me.”

            “Well it’s not like I plan to fight him by myself,” she laughed. “I think Gandalf just told me that so I wouldn’t run away to be honest.” Of course she _did_ plan to kill Smaug, but not by herself. That would just be stupid.

            “No,” Thorin said, setting her back from him, looking at her, a strange glint in his eyes. “Nobody gets to kill him but _me_.”

            Bilbo was shocked into silence; it was disconcerting to discover his request was about his revenge and not her safety, but far worse was that gleam of—what, madness? Insanity?—in his eyes. Thorin seemed to accept her silence as compliance and he released her shoulders, walking by her and out of the kitchen.

            “I'll tell Dwalin and Bombur you're ready to leave immediately.”


	12. Fire and Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one. And sorry. Also warning for extreme violence in the middle. Please be warned if necessary.

Bilbo set out from Laketown with Dwalin, Bombur, and Oin; the three women chatted companionably like they weren’t headed towards possible torture and death and it felt good to be doing _something_. Good, but not great—she hated to admit it, but Thorin had been right about one thing; she did not like using her invisibility. By the time Bilbo was old enough to understand her powers she hadn’t wanted to; her grandmother’s threats of shadowy government agents tormented Bilbo and taught her to ignore and repress her powers from an early age. She didn’t entirely know how her invisibility worked and she hadn’t wanted to, but her mother _had_ warned her not to abuse it. The few times in her life Bilbo needed to be invisible always left her drained and exhausted afterwards—a sort of bone-weariness that felt as much like an exhaustion of her soul as her physical being. She couldn’t stay invisible forever and no one knew how long it would take her to get in and out of Smaug Corp, but there wasn’t a choice; this needed to happen and she was the only one who could do it. Out of options and desperate to get them out of Laketown before Balin and Thorin killed each other Bilbo swallowed her anxiety and focused on the task at hand. All that mattered right now was getting in, getting the info they needed, and getting out again. They didn’t know much but theydid know Smaug was on a business trip; it was a weak plan but this was their best window to carry it out. If this went well they’d have what they needed to finish him off once and for all and then…then this was all over. Bilbo would go back to her old life and salvage what she could. She wondered why that thought was more devastating than facing Smaug.

“Bilbo,” Dwalin broke into her thoughts. “Don’t worry too much about it. You want to keep your nerves under control, not let them get the best of you.”

“I’ll be with you the entire time,” Oin said. “Mentally speaking of course.”

“Thanks,” Bilbo forced a small smile. “And what if—what if this works? What about…after. If we destroy Smaug Corp.”

“You mean when,” Bombur corrected.

“Thorin will kill him.” Oin shrugged like it was a foregone conclusion, as if it were only a matter of time.

“Do you really think he can?” Bilbo asked quietly. “On the dam—”

“We weren’t ready on the dam,” Oin said. “That’s all it was. We were hurt and running. When you find what we need we’ll be the ones planning the attack and with all of us backing each other up there’s no way we can lose.”

“But how many are going to die before we win,” Bilbo whispered.

“Hey,” Bombur cut in. “Don’t go there. We plan, we prepare, we attack. That’s how we keep each other safe and all come home at the end of the day.”

“No, Bilbo’s right,” Dwalin acknowledged. “Some of us might die. We walk into battle underestimating that and we're done. But remember Bilbo—we have to do this. If we don’t no one does, and Smaug keeps ruining lives and destroying families. Can you walk away knowing we had a chance to stop him?”

The barge slid onto the rock then, a slight grating announcing their arrival on the other side of the lake; Bilbo looked away from Dwalin’s piercing stare and nodded. _Could_ Thorin kill Smaug? If it was only a matter of planning why had Gandalf been so adamant she join them? Why all the training with Elrond? Why the mysterious conversations about her heritage? The rock that had settled into the pit of her stomach with Thorin’s earlier request felt heavier and Bilbo knew—knew as surely as she’d known anything in her life—that anyone who faced Smaug would die. And she could not, she _would not_ watch Thorin die. The world needed him. The League needed him. She was just a strange middle-aged loner from Shire Apartments. But how could she face Smaug without the League and how could the League back her up without Thorin? It was a problem for tomorrow. And a problem Thorin could never know she was considering. He would never forgive her.

They stepped onto the smooth rock floor while the young boy running the barge slid soundlessly back onto the dark water. Oin and Dwalin started up the stairs at a quick clip and Bilbo repressed a groan remembering just how long it had taken them to walk down here in the first place.

“Fucking stairs,” Bombur sighed. Bilbo had never felt closer to anyone in her life.

 

It was almost noon by the time they made it to Smaug Corp; their foolproof plan to wait until Smaug’s secretary went to lunch and then steal the information from her computer did little to help Bilbo’s anxiety. She had no idea what to do if the computer was password protected, if the secretary didn’t leave her desk, if the information they wanted wasn’t there—there was a lot that could go wrong. She could only turn invisible, not magically gain access to electronic systems, but no one seemed particularly interested in the details.

“Okay,” Oin told her. “So just stick close to someone walking in. You should be able to sneak through security if you time it right. Smaug’s office will be the penthouse—you might need special clearance to access it. If that’s the case lift the key from security. I’ll be right there with you the whole time so if you get scared just talk to me. You won’t need to speak out loud. Just think at me and I’ll hear you.”

Bilbo nodded, ordering her nerves to calm.

“You’ll be fine,” Dwalin told her. “First sign of trouble get out of there. We can always try again tomorrow.”

Bilbo gritted her teeth. She did not want to do this.

“Whatever you do, don’t die,” Bombur told her.

“I’ll do my best,” Bilbo promised with a small smile. Taking a quick look around she made sure no one was watching, took a deep breath—and disappeared.

The world immediately lost color; everything grayed out, the sounds of the city muted as if she put in earplugs. Her senses still worked, but it was like being wrapped in cotton, nothing quite as sharp as it was. They’d been standing on the far edge of Smaug Corp’s parking lot, rows and rows of employee parking between them and the sprawling compound, but Bilbo set out at a quick pace, navigating the distance quickly. She wanted this done before the lunch hour was up. People streamed in and out of the huge glass doors and Bilbo slipped in without an issue; the lobby was enormous, marble floors and an open floor plan marked by escalators and balconies for the first five floors. She stood for a while off to the side trying to get her bearings; she could hear the dings and bustle of elevators somewhere to her right, but a security checkpoint stood between her and everything else. With a breath, Bilbo ducked behind a passing woman, sticking as close as she could when she waved her keycard and walked through the metal detector. The light flashed from green to red and an obnoxious alarm blared but Bilbo didn’t stop, making sure she was on the other side as security came over and requested the woman show some ID. Feeling a little emboldened Bilbo started back towards the elevators; this just  might work.

She slipped into an elevator full of people, pressed tightly up against the wall to keep from touching anyone and tried to get a look at the buttons. The elevators went all the way to the twenty-third floor, but that wasn’t right. Bilbo didn’t know exactly how many floors Smaug Corp boasted, but the main tower was a skyscraper—it shot straight up into the air next to buildings that were forty, even fifty stories high. She was in the wrong elevator.

Time ticked by while Bilbo rode the elevator all the way up, then all the way back down again—every stop making her feel more anxious as the lunch hour dragged on. She bolted back into the lobby when they finally reached the ground floor and went back to security, looking for another hallway, trying to find where a second set of elevators might be kept. There. It looked like another hallway branched off on the other side of the lobby. She jogged over, careful to avoid the jostling bodies of lunchtime on a work day and turned the corner; these elevators were a shiny onyx with nothing but a single up arrow above each of the three doors. They were also key operated. Bilbo bit off a curse and went over her options. She could try and lift the key from security, but she didn’t know which one she needed or where they might keep it. The clock was ticking and every second she stayed invisible the harder it was to focus; she could already feel herself burning, like she’d been walking all day and needed to sit down.

She turned back, ready to try and find the key when something dinged behind her. Spinning, Bilbo saw the doors of the farthest elevator open and a woman exited, her head down over some papers; the doors started closing almost immediately and Bilbo dashed, darting so close to the woman the papers fluttered in the folder. Thrusting her arm between the doors Bilbo forced them back open and slid into the car, pushing back behind the edge of the open doors on instinct, as the woman looked up with a puzzled expression. Bilbo watched as the woman shrugged and turned back to the lobby; luck was finally on her side—the buttons started at 24 and there, on the top most button was a white “P” that didn’t even need a key. She let go her first sigh of relief when it lit up under her fingers and the elevator started climbing. She could do this.

 _Oin_ , she thought,  _I’m in_.

 _Good_ , Oin’s voice replied in her head.  _Is the secretary there?_

 _One second_. The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened to the penthouse. It was disconcerting to be speaking to a voice in her head, but there was comfort in it as well; it felt good not to be utterly alone.

The penthouse was like nothing Bilbo had ever seen; it was done in black and gold. Polished black granite flooring reflected everything in the room, from the golden chandeliers to gold flecked black granite walls, creating an illusion of walking across a treasure horde. Bilbo found herself tiptoeing as if she might accidentally slip on a golden coin: the effect was awe-inspiring and left her feeling very small and very out-matched. A single desk sat empty at the end of the hall; behind it was a smoked glass wall—Smaug’s office from what she could see of it. The floor seemed empty, but Bilbo felt her pulse pick up, anxiety from being this deep in Smaug’s territory flooding her veins. Forcing herself to stay on task, she sat down in the empty chair and held her breath.

More luck—the computer was password protected, but the secretary kept the password written down on a sheet of paper in her desk. It didn’t matter, though; there was nothing on the computer besides spreadsheets and memos and even those were nothing more than company business. There wasn’t so much as a doctor’s appointment written down anywhere Bilbo could find.

 _We’ve got a problem_ , she told Oin.  _There’s nothing here_.

 _You can’t access the computer_? Oin asked.

 _No_ , Bilbo said impatiently,  _there’s nothing on the computer_.  _No schedule, no calendar. There’s not even an appointment book that I can find_.

 _Hang on_ , Oin told her.

Bilbo sat back and looked around; Oin would be talking to Dwalin and Bombur she knew, trying to figure out what to do. The burning was getting worse, the need to be visible again pulling her apart at the seams, but Bilbo refused to go back empty handed. She was so close, if she could just…

she looked around the smoky glass behind the secretary’s desk. Smaug’s office was empty. The door was unlocked and Bilbo entered cautiously, listening as hard as she could through the growing noise in her ears; the longer she stayed invisible the worse her senses got, but she couldn't risk being caught on camera. Moving into the office she headed straight to the desk, searching the papers on top and unlocked drawers for an appointment book or password; Smaug wasn't as careless as his secretary. There was nothing like a password, but the bottom right drawer was locked and Bilbo had seen a key in the secretary’s desk—this was her last bet. Hurrying back Bilbo grabbed the key, returning and unlocking the drawer; inside she found an ancient bottle of scotch, something black and electronic, and an appointment book. Jackpot.

Picking up the device and book she shut and locked the drawer, her vision starting to fuzz over. The ding of the elevators was like a cannon shot making her pulse triple as it throbbed in her throat.

Bilbo felt the fear choke her before he came into sight. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Panic threatened and he struggled to keep her focus through the cloying fear. She watched his shadow through the glass walking at a deliberate pace across the floor. At a loss Bilbo stood off to the side, her only hope that she could get out as he walked in, but he stopped just behind the secretary’s desk pausing before opening his office door and standing there, blocking her exit.

“Hello little thief,” he said, that terrible, deep voice making Bilbo’s legs shake. “Show yourself.”

 _Oin!_  Bilbo screamed.  _Oin, Smaug is here!_

 _GET OUT_! Oin shouted into her head.  _Get out_ NOW.

 _I can’t_ , Bilbo sobbed,  _he’s blocking the doorway._  She had never felt fear like this in her life; her brain was shutting down as instinct kicked in—horror flooded her blood and Bilbo felt her knees lock up, her whole body quaking as Smaug’s mouth slid into a slow, toothy smile. There was another beat of silence as he stood there, eyes scanning the room for her; his gaze slid across her then came back, his eyes hovering over where she stood. Bilbo pushed herself tighter against the wall, her teeth breaking the skin of her lip as she bit off a whimper.

 _We’re coming in_ , Oin said suddenly.

 _NO!_  Bilbo screamed, fear for her friends overriding her own. They couldn't be here. She would sacrifice herself first. Smaug was too terrible, too powerful.  _You’ll get caught. Go. Run. If I can get out I will._  Bilbo knew she wasn't going anywhere.

“Little thief,” Smaug said then. “I grow weary of waiting.”

 _We’re not leaving you_ , Oin told her.

 _Tell Gandalf and Elrond_ , Bilbo said suddenly. Gandalf and Elrond were their only hope—she should never have come here without them. How stupid she had been.  _We need them. They need to know what happened here._

 _Bilbo_ , Oin rushed,  _I’m getting Thorin_.

 _No!_ Bilbo shouted. She couldn't think about Thorin; his name conjured visions of his broken, slaughtered body bleeding out at Smaug’s feet. If Thorin was in this room he would die and Bilbo wouldn't allow that. She couldn't allow that.  _Thorin cannot be here. Promise me._

 _Bilbo_ , Oin pushed.

 _Promise me_ , Bilbo forced. Smaug swayed, his lithe body moving in a serpentine motion as Bilbo pressed her hands over her mouth to stay silent.

 _Smaug is going to find me_ , Bilbo spoke over Oin’s frantic arguments. He was looking at her as if he could see her now; her terror peaked and her emotions blanked out, blessed numbness replacing the paralyzing fear. She was going to get caught. She was going to get caught and she was going to die. The only thing she could do now was protect Thorin by keeping him away.

 _Get to Gandalf_ , Bilbo said again.  _Gandalf will know what to do_. She would die here, but Gandalf would keep the others safe.

Smaug took a step forward, then another. Bilbo ignored Oin’s voice in her head as her muscles tensed, ready to bolt as soon as he cleared the doorway. If she had any chance this was it. An EXIT sign marked the stairwell next to the elevators; if she could get out of this office she could make a break for the stairs. He took one more step and Bilbo shot forward, aiming for the space between his body and the door.

She jerked, gagging as an iron grip pulled her up by the throat. The shock shattered her control and the world flooded with color as she exploded into the visible spectrum. Bilbo dangled by her neck, choking as Smaug suspended her with one arm.

“Gotcha.”

He tossed her like a rag doll into the wall and Bilbo’s head split like a melon against the hard stone. She was unconscious before her body crumpled in a heap to the floor.

 

Bilbo was pulled back into consciousness by a throbbing pain; she was a mix of nausea and tears. Her eyes felt gritty and she wanted to rub them, but her arms were caught on something. She tried rolling, wanting to reposition, but her body wouldn't budge. Her eyelids felt caked in cement and Bilbo had to force herself to move; she just needed to roll over, if she could just roll over she could go back to sleep.

“Hello little thief,” a deep voice hissed in her ear. “We meet again.”

Bilbo’s eyes shot open—the confusion and pain giving way as raw terror flooded her; no, no this couldn't be happening. She couldn't do this. She was supposed to die. She was supposed to be  _dead_. Bilbo squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe, the panic crushing her chest making it impossible to suck in air.

“Ah,” he whispered, smoothing a hand down Bilbo’s hair; she jerked but lay immobile, trapped by the restraints. “You’re so scared you’re shaking. That’s adorable.”

She choked on a scream and fought with herself. She would not lost control. She would  _not_ beg.

“Look at me little thief,” he said, pinching her chin and holding her head. “ _Look at me_.”

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open against her will, a tear escaping and sliding down her cheek. Her body pushed back into the board behind her, but there was nowhere to go. He moved, crowding her as he held her gaze hostage. His eyes were dual colored, a stormy blue ring encircled a green-golden hue; the pupils were normal but every time he blinked they almost…flickered. The human circle elongating into a slit before easing back again. The effect mesmerized her, the horror of him locking her in place.

“What are you.” The words were low and slow, each one rolling off his tongue like the mystery intrigued him. “Answer me.”

She croaked, her mouth too dry for words.

“Little thief,” he said, a note of warning creeping into his tone. “I am not patient.”

“I-I’m me.”

His eyes flashed and Bilbo’s own widened at what she’d said.

“Do you toy with me!” he roared into her face.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m j-just so s-sc-scared.”

His expression changed, sliding from anger into something unknowable as he tilted his head, examining her. “Do I terrify you so?”

“Yes.”

A small smile turned his lips up as he released her and walked away. It was a terrible smile; the promise of pain lurking just beneath its surface. He was going to break her. She was nearly incoherent with terror, and the lies wouldn't come; her words jumbled and moved against her will as if he was controlling her thoughts, shuffling her brain with fingers that scraped  _inside_ her. This was nothing like the dam; she was crushingly alone, somewhere in a fortified building, with a being who had slaughtered and experimented on so many people there was no word for what he was.

The question was no longer how she would survive. The question was how she would protect her friends until she died.

“Do you know why you can’t stay invisible for very long?”

He sauntered to his desk and pulled out the bottle of scotch.

“You’re a being of two dimensions,” he went on conversationally. “You walk between those dimensions—a dangerous and powerful ability.”

Bilbo tracked his hands as he raised a glass of scotch, sniffing it. She hated his smile; his look of pleasure made bile coat her throat.

“It isn't that you are invisible,” he explained. “You simply aren't entirely here and someone like you, someone who travels between dimensions as you do can feel your presence like an itch under their skin. Besides. Walking there, staying there—well.” He shrugged as if it were obvious.

The words were out before she could stop them. “Well what.”

He caught her gaze again, that predatory smile broken as he licked his lips. “A soul isn't meant to live between worlds Bilbo Baggins. Forcing yours into that state will ruin you. Pervert you.”

“How do you know my name,” she stuttered.

“I know many things about you.” His voice took on a silky quality as he strolled back to her, licking amber liquid from his lips. His other hand came up to trace the contours of her face—finger tips elongating into claws that trailed over her vulnerable skin. “I know you’re not like the others. I find that…fascinating.  What could I make from the likes of you?”

Bilbo said nothing, panting as those claws pinched the tender skin of her neck.

“Why are you here.”

His head cocked, and Bilbo felt the words forming, something forcing them out. She bit her own tongue, tasting blood to stay silent.

“What are you looking for.”

The pressure was agonizing. More tears escaped carving a path through dried blood.

“ _Answer me_.”

Bilbo screamed. She didn't know she could sound like that. The sound tore from her throat, ripping through her vocal cords as he squeezed. She couldn't even feel the pain of his claws; his voice had mutated becoming something bestial that snarled in her face, cowing her. Her body shook in his grip, the scream going on and on as the pressure pushed her eyeballs from behind. Any second now her eyes would burst, explode in her skull and she didn't care, couldn't care—she was too desperate for the pain to stop.

But still she didn't answer him.

With a monstrous growl he ripped downwards, claws leaving four bloody tracks in her torso. The pain was shocking but it distracted her from that inescapable pressure, the burning need to do whatever he said. He stormed away from her, tossing back the rest of the scotch before slamming the tumbler down on the desk; spinning he looked back with a snarl—his features were inhuman now, the bones under his skin twisting as his pupils elongated into slits.

“Then we’ll do this the hard way.”

Bilbo didn’t even try to fight the sobs; it felt like her tears were being torn from her, dripping off her chin to mingle with the blood seeping from her chest. It was too much, too terrible. She had never felt pain like this; she wanted to escape it—was  _frantic_ to escape it. Surely she could tell him about Laketown. Gandalf and Elrond had put wards in place; Kili told her Smaug couldn't get to them there. She could tell him that much, just that much. Maybe if she told him about Laketown he would kill her.

The pain subsided momentarily and his face was human again, but his hands shifted, elongated into claws as bronze scales covered skin, disappearing beneath his shirt cuffs. Those horrible claws came up, gripping her head and dug in, the spikes felt like they pierced her skull and plunged straight into her brain.

Whatever she felt now was beyond pain. She couldn't see him, couldn't feel him. Bilbo wasn't even sure where she was. Her brain exploded inside her head. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. She would give him whatever he wanted. She just needed it to stop, but nothing made it stop. The pain grew and magnified. He was inside her soul rooting through her memories—touching  _her_. Bilbo tried to pull away, to push him away, desperate to make him stop, but she was cornered. Dissected. He was around her and inside her—the wrongness of feeling him like this more ruinous than the pain it caused.

His mouth opened before her eyes transforming into a maw with teeth like swords. His breath burned across her face, his howl drowning out her own screams of anguish.

“YOU WILL  _ANSWER ME!_ ”

“Be gone Serpent!”

The agony vanished and Bilbo sagged forward against the restraints. Between heartbeats her world shifted from fire and pain to blissful nothing; all she could hear was the ringing in her ears—all she could see were the spots dancing before her eyes. She hung tense and strung out, waiting for the torment to return. Slowly the spots cleared, the ringing faded, and other sounds assailed her. Someone was in front of her again, but it wasn't Smaug. They were tugging at her wrists; there were mumbled curses as her right wrist sprung free and she collapsed into strong arms, unable to hold herself upright.

“I got you, I got you,” a soft voice whispered to her. One strong arm cradled her gently as the tugging resumed at her left wrist.

“Dwalin?” she croaked.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“You can’t be here,” Bilbo said, fighting to push herself up. “He’ll kill you.”

“We’re all here Bilbo,” Dwalin told her. “We’re rescuing you.”

Bilbo panted, trying to make sense of what she was hearing.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Dwalin went on. “Can you walk?”

Someone else was working at her ankles and Bilbo’s body collapsed as she was released, but Dwalin supported her.

“That’d be a no then,” Dwalin said.

“Can you carry her out of here?”

Bilbo blinked slowly. Fili was kneeling down, freeing her other ankle and she finally looked at the room, her vision cleared enough to process what she was seeing. They were there. They were all there. Thorin, Balin, and Bombur attacked Smaug from the front; lightning bolts and flames flew from Gandalf’s fingertips stinging and distracting. Elrond stood in the back with Oin and Gloin, his concentration on a shield that was just visible as a slight haze over every individual in the room. People were shouting at each other back and forth, Nori, Ori, and Dori struggling to maneuver to use their powers. Kili’s lightning crackled; the smell burned her nose and Bifur and Bofur darted in and out, striking at Smaug’s sides while he was distracted. They fought like a team, but Bilbo knew it was hopeless. Blood already splattered the room, all of it from her friends. Each blow glanced off Smaug; every energy attack stung but had no real effect. He’d been inside her head and she knew now how powerful he was. She hobbled for the door with Dwalin, knowing they had to escape, had to get clear so the others could run but she heard Bifur cry out and she stumbled, unwilling to abandon her friends. Something was tickling Bilbo’s brain; something she couldn't quite remember.

“We can’t,” Bilbo gasped, “we can’t leave them.”

“We will,” Dwalin ordered. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Bilbo wanted to fight her, wanted to stay and fight next to the people who risked their lives for her own but she couldn't even support her own weight. The pain had subsided but her head still throbbed with the rest of her body, keeping the edges of her vision fuzzy and her legs weak.

The memory tickled again, pushing at the edges of her consciousness. They were at the elevator doors, the sounds of battle raging from inside the office. When the doors opened Dwalin hustled her through, slamming “L” then smashing the “Door Closed” button. The doors slid shut and they started their descent, the quiet eerie and unnatural after the chaos they left behind.

“How hurt are you,” Dwalin asked her.

Bilbo tried to take stock of herself, but everything kept slipping away, like she couldn't focus on any one thing for too long.

“I’m not sure,” she finally said. “Better. I think.”

“We’re gonna have to make a run for it when we hit the lobby,” Dwalin explained. “Hold on to me.”

Bilbo could only nod as the other woman tightened her grip, keeping Bilbo firm against her when the elevator dinged. The doors opened and they were off, a freakish mockery of a three-legged race staggering toward the open street fueled by desperation and panic. The security guards shouted at them to stop and Dwalin released Bilbo with a shove towards freedom before turning around to protect her.

She stumbled, her legs stronger but still shaky; Bilbo fought to stay upright and ignored the sounds of grunts and gunfire behind her. She had to trust Dwalin—had to trust she would keep herself and everyone else safe. The doors were before her, escape and sunlight shining through the industrial glass, and she reached out, ready to shove her way through when a hand came down hard on her shoulder, yanking her back. Bilbo didn't think. With panicked instincts she spun and fired. A bolt of energy shot straight through the chest of a surprised security guard; his face a caricature of shock as he looked down at the smoking hole just below his clavicle. Bilbo thought she saw straight through him before he dropped in a heap at her feet.

Unable to care if he was alive or dead she turned, breaking through the first door and picking up speed for the outer one. Her legs were stronger now, adrenaline helping her focus through injury and the riotous mush Smaug had left inside her head. The outer door slammed open and then she was free, outside in the clear warm sunshine of late afternoon. She limped down the steps to the parking lot when the sound of shattering glass far above made her twist and look up, eyes wide. Two bodies were chasing each other through the air, plunging towards her. Several more jumped behind them, their controlled descent reassuring her they weren't falling to their death. The first body never slowed, though, and Bilbo jumped back as it slammed into the concrete thirty feet away. The impact shook the ground and dust and debris clouded the air; Bilbo started over, worry for Thorin overriding good sense but pulled up short as a dark shape clawed its way out of the hole. That wasn’t Thorin.

Smaug had cut off her escape route and now he was twisting, bones snapping and shifting in front of her; Bilbo’s scream froze in her mouth as his body morphed, membranes turning arms into wings as his body doubled, no quadrupled in size. A tail sprouted, spines snapping into place over scales that had replaced skin and his face elongated, those reptilian slits finally making sense as he rose before her in his true form. Bilbo had thought she couldn't be any more afraid of him. She was wrong.

Smaug snapped a wing out, batting a diving Thorin away like a gnat and his body rolled through the parking lot, leaving a trail of ruined cars and concrete in his wake.

“I will rip your spine from your body and make it dance as you die in agony,” he growled at her. This monster wasn't human, and as his steps rocked the ground with tremors Bilbo finally understood how suicidal Thorin’s need for revenge truly was.

 _Someone like you_ , a voice said inside her head. She shook her head violently, the movement sparking enough pain to silence the memory. She was nothing like this creature.

“Should I kill your friends first?” The words rolled out of his maw, hissing through giant teeth. Gandalf and the others landed around her, staying clear of Smaug’s dreadful form as Dwalin ran out of the building, pulling up short at the sight. Thorin charged stupidly from behind and Smaug flicked his tail, knocking him flat and pinning him with a spine inches from his chest.

“Or should I kill Thorin Oakenshield? He was my first. The first in my army of beings so powerful no force on Earth can stop them.” Smaug rumbled with horrible laughter. “What a disappointment he turned out to be.”

“NO!” Bilbo screamed. There was finally something strong enough to override the terror, something that mattered more to her than fear and pain and certain death. She would  _not_  watch Thorin die.

The power flooded her. The warmth of energy drove away the pain, unscrambling her brain and focused on the beast before her. Bilbo raised her hands, a snarl erupting as she aimed and released, channeling the strike in a solid beam that ripped through her body in a burst of agonized ecstasy. Smaug roared as he fell back, his scream signaling real pain for the first time.

 _Someone like you_ , the voice said again.  _Someone who travels between dimensions_. Time slowed, a second stretching into eternity and everything clicked into place. Her mother, Gandalf and Elrond’s insistence she kill Smaug, their promise she was the only one who could kill him. Whatever she was, wherever her mother had come from Smaug had too, and the power Bilbo inherited could hurt him. Only she could really hurt him. He rose again and she saw a hole in the scales; her blast had ripped through, creating an opening just above his left breast. Bilbo could slay the dragon.

            Raising her hands Bilbo aimed, but then Thorin was there, charging into her line of sight. His face was savage, the man she loved unrecognizable. He ran at Smaug leaving himself vulnerable to attack and time snapped forward, speeding up as Bilbo’s worst nightmare unraveled before her. Smaug inhaled, a fiery glow lighting his body from the inside and Bilbo reacted—her only concern to get Thorin away from Smaug. She fired at his shoulder, praying her aim and his healing factor were good enough to keep him alive. She hit him, spinning him to the right just as Smaug released a stream of burning death directly where Thorin had been. Concrete sizzled and melted beneath it, turning to molten rock but Bilbo had knocked him just far enough away he’d rolled to safety. Knowing she didn't have another chance she fired at Smaug unleashing every ounce of energy inside her.

A stream of blue-black energy burst from her fingers and pierced the vulnerable hollow laid open by her first shot. Smaug wailed, shattering glass and shaking the ground, but still Bilbo fired. She felt more than saw her companions drop to their knees, hands clasped over their ears but she held her ground, bracing herself and standing tall. Smaug’s body lit again, but this time it wasn’t the fiery glow of before. This time it was a blue light so dark it was nearly black, pouring from his eyes, his ears, and his mouth. The light started to push his scales apart, and he thrashed, stretched and bloated as it pushed, shining brighter and brighter from within. Bilbo was looking at the world through a hazy lens, and her stream of energy cut off but it was enough. She had been enough. His entire body blew apart mere feet in front of her, releasing a shock wave that rattled windows on the far side of the city and left debris for miles. His corpse rained down in chunks of fleshy pulp and bone that pinged off the hazy shield protecting Bilbo and the others, carpeting every car in the parking lot.

The sudden quiet roared. Bilbo stood for a moment, unable to believe what she’d seen—what she’d  _done_. Her hands dropped to her side, and then she fell hard to knees, exhaustion like she’d never felt pushing her down. It was done. Smaug was dead. They were safe.

She was jerked back to her feet and her head bobbled as something shook her. Two hands had latched cruelly onto her arms and violently rattled her.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? YOU FUCKING TRAITOR WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!”

Bilbo couldn't understand what was happening. She was shaking too much to focus. Tears cut tracks through the blood and dust on her face.

Someone ripped her from Thorin because it was Thorin. Thorin who had protected her. Thorin who had saved her. Thorin who she loved.

“Thorin calm down!” Gandalf boomed.

“Smaug was mine!” he shouted. “Mine to kill! She took that from me. She stole my revenge!”

“Smaug was a monster,” Elrond said, moving to place himself between Bilbo and Thorin. Bilbo stood there swaying, crying silently. Unable to process what was happening.

“You have no place here,” Thorin snarled at her. “Everything we've done, all of this—the years of training, the fighting, the League—all of it was to destroy Smaug. So  _I_ could destroy Smaug!”

“He is destroyed!” Gandalf snapped. “Who killed him doesn't matter!”

“It matters to  _me_.” Thorin snarled. He spun and the look he leveled at Bilbo was so angry, so full of rage and hate she didn't even recognize him. “I told you not to kill Smaug. I told you not to go to Gandalf and Elrond. You never belonged here. I never should have let you stay.”

“Thorin you aren't thinking clearly,” Gandalf tried in a more placating voice.

“No,” Thorin cut him off. “No. You’re the one that wanted her to stay with us. You’re the one who said I had to put up with her. She’s your problem now. Get rid of her. I never want to hear another disgusting lie pass her lips.”

He took off into the sky leaving stunned silence behind him. Bilbo wondered why she couldn't breathe, why her chest burned inside her. Was she being tortured again? She was so confused and she looked back at them all, looked at her friends waiting for someone to explain what had just happened. Suddenly Gandalf was there and she was enveloped in a hug, the world disappearing as tender arms wrapped tight around her.

“He doesn't understand what he’s saying,” Gandalf murmured. “He’ll calm down. He’ll calm down and apologize. I’ll see to it.”

Bilbo heard a strange keening noise, like a wounded animal cried nearby. The sound was filled with so much pain as if whatever made it couldn't even sob properly, but Gandalf just held her, stroking her hair. Bilbo finally realized it was her.


	13. A Homely House

Bilbo wondered if maybe this was what it felt like to go crazy. It had been five days since the battle with Smaug; five days since whatever tenuous stability her life had was shattered. She hadn’t slept more than three hours a night—the nightmares came for her every time she closed her eyes. The worst were the ones that happened when she wasn’t even asleep yet; she laid in bed, ears straining for unfamiliar noises. She could hear footsteps in the hallway outside her door, the whispered sibilant hiss of Gollum creeping through the shadows. She hallucinated reptilian eyes in the dark, a bestial half-man, half-dragon monstrosity dripping puss and blood as it clawed its way up the side of the building. Bilbo started sleeping with her light on, staying awake until her eyes drooped and she collapsed in whatever chair caught her but even that only offered a few hours respite. Every night she woke sweaty and screaming, terrified she was tied down again. Worst of all it wasn’t always the torture that woke her—sometimes it was a familiar face screaming at her, shaking her, that beautiful bearded visage contorted in rage.

She didn’t know how to process any of this; she was completely overwhelmed by what she was feeling as adrift in her own reactions as she was in the nightmares themselves. The most emotional moments of her life had found her quiet and calm—she’d never realized until now how she took that steady patience for granted. Now, when she needed clarity the most, it deserted her, completely out of reach. She wanted to scream except she didn’t. She wanted to cry and wail and throw things except she didn’t. She wanted everyone to know how horribly broken she felt, like Smaug had cracked her soul down the middle and Thorin had struck the final blow that shattered her. She wanted everyone to know she might never be the same again. Except she didn’t.

So Bilbo did none of that. She had choked back her sobs as Gandalf and Elrond led her away from the massive destruction at Smaug Corp, swallowing the pain down, down, down, until everything felt like it was happening at a distance. She followed them without argument, never looking back at the faces of those she had come to love—faces that had stood silent while Thorin railed at her. Silent all the way to Elrond’s house, she accepted a guest bedroom and a loan of clothing and toiletries before dutifully thanking him for his hospitality. It wasn’t the nightmares that left her sobbing until she threw up that first night, it was the loss of her stupid backpack. What had she saved except clothes and a few pictures, but it was all she’d had left of her previous life. As she scrubbed grime and dirt from her skin it wasn’t the pain of her injuries that made her want to howl; it was the way Elrond’s shampoo didn’t smell like hers. When her muscles tweaked and pulled as she climbed out of the shower she hadn’t even felt it, but the memory of her mother bundling her up in a towel and rocking her left her curled up on the floor screaming into the mat.

 And when she was done, when she had cried every tear her body could produce she finally left that borrowed bedroom. Three days had passed and Bilbo reemerged into the world as she was when this adventure started: alone. It was time to go home even though she had no home to go to. She would not waste away here. If she were to go mad she would do it on her own terms.

So for two days she sat and talked with Elrond and Gandalf about finding a new home, a mask of civility firmly in place, and if the only thing Bilbo saw as Elrond spoke of Smaug’s defeat was Thorin’s face twisted with rage and the only thing she heard when Gandalf spoke was Thorin screaming at her neither of them ever needed to know.

And sometimes, very late at night when she lay panting from the nightmares, Bilbo even thought that maybe this was all her own fault; she knew how much Thorin’s revenge meant to him and she’d known he could never really love her. Not like she loved him. They were doomed the moment they started and now she was moping around like any of this was a surprise.

But surely…surely it wasn’t okay what he’d said. Surely she hadn’t deserved that.

“Hello there Bilbo!” a kind stranger forced her thoughts to the present. Someone who’d brought her food before she thought; she was hiding in the library—books offered a wonderful balance between isolation and silent companionship—and she stifled the irritation at being interrupted. “How are you feeling today?”

“Oh much better thanks,” Bilbo replied. The person disappeared down the hall and Bilbo focused on breathing until her anger at being asked such an inane question could dissipate. If anyone else asked how she was feeling she was going to decapitate them as a warning to every other well-wisher in this damned perfect house. She had no home, no friends, and the one backpack full of mementos she saved was lost to her. Oh yes—everything was looking up for Bilbo Baggins.

“My that’s quite a face.”

Bilbo jerked up, smoothing her expression as Gandalf smiled enigmatically at her from the doorway.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Bilbo invited him, reaching deep inside for that sense of courtesy that used to be second nature. He made himself comfortable in the wingback chair across from her; the fireplace crackled warmly behind them while a clear, cool sun shone through the large windows.

“How are you liking it here,” Gandalf asked. Bilbo paused, the prepared lie dying on her lips—that wasn’t a question anyone else had asked.

“I think,” she began slowly surprised to find herself telling the truth, “that I would like it here very much. There’s something…homely about Elrond’s house.”

“It does have a sort of old fashioned feel to it doesn’t it?” Gandalf mused. His eyes were tracing the rows and rows of books lining the walls, but Bilbo wasn’t fooled. Gandalf was never this casual without a point.

He pulled out his pipe, silently asking for permission and Bilbo waved him on. She liked the smell of his tobacco generally—it was a spicy smoke that cleared her sinuses without clinging to her skin and hair. He cleaned and packed the pipe, and Bilbo was surprised by the myriad of emotions his presence stirred; this was the first time they’d been alone and Bilbo realized she was…embarrassed in front of him. The mortification of losing control was sitting on her chest: to break down like that, to have cried so desperately in Gandalf’s arms—it was uncomfortable.

“I wonder if I might share something with you Bilbo,” Gandalf said after a long while. “Something quite personal.”

“I—okay,” Bilbo shrugged.

“I promised your mother and grandfather I would look after you,” Gandalf told her. “And though you haven’t known me long, I have tried to keep that promise to the best of my abilities.”

“That’s…what?”

“I understand this may sound a little, strange, but I’ve been watching you Bilbo,” Gandalf told her, “from afar. I’ve tried to keep an eye on your general well-being since your parents passed. Two when I could spare them. I had meant to introduce myself, to approach you on my own and offer to train you but then Thorin crashed through your wall and I was forced to improvise.”

“You—you were watching me?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes, I—” Gandalf paused, as if recognizing how strange his words sounded for the first time. “Just to make sure you were safe. It was imperative creatures like Gollum and Smaug didn’t find you.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, well I’m sure you’ve put together by now that Smaug was vulnerable to your powers,” Gandalf went on. “That’s why we needed you. Smaug was functionally impervious to anything the rest of us could do. Maybe we could have defeated him eventually, but not without great cost to ourselves and the city. If we had any chance of victory, without sacrificing hundreds of innocents in the process, I knew we needed you.”

“And my mother…knew all of this?” Bilbo asked hesitantly.

“When your father found his way to your mother it opened a door of sorts,” Gandalf explained. “Smaug came through that door just as your mother did. We—well, none of us wanted this for you. But when your mother was killed there was no other choice.”

Bilbo cocked her head to one side. “My mother wasn’t killed. She died in an accident.”

“No she didn’t Bilbo.”

Bilbo starred at Gandalf a long time, her eyes tracing the weathered lines of his kindly face, the smoke climbing up out of his pipe. She sat back in her chair and clasped her hands in front of her feeling whatever small emotion this conversation elicited evaporate inside her.

“Smaug killed my mother.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m sure Smaug was responsible for it, yes.”

Bilbo stared at the floor and waited.

“It was not my intention to keep this from you,” Gandalf went on after a moment. “But Thorin’s need for revenge was already out of control. I decided it was better to wait—better if you killed Smaug for the right reasons.”

“The right reasons?!” Bilbo burst. There was that note of hysteria again, those disconnected emotions creeping into her voice even though she couldn’t feel them. “How can there ever be a right reason to kill something?”

“Precisely.”

He sat back and puffed his pipe as if she had just made his point for him, as if all her questions were answered and explained. Bilbo’s breathing picked up as the numbness cracked inside her letting blissful, unfiltered rage seep through. A pawn. She had been nothing but a pawn in this from the beginning. A chess piece moved into place by forces operating unseen—her life, her happiness, her _sanity_ had been nothing more than calculated risks and acceptable losses.

“You are angry with me,” Gandalf sighed.

“Murderously.”

“That’s not like you Bilbo.”

“I don’t even know who I am anymore Gandalf. You can thank yourself for that.”

“He’ll come around Bilbo. He didn’t mean what he said.”

“No,” Bilbo bit off, a haze of blue light flaring around her hands. “Don’t patronize me. I have trusted you without question. I have accepted the loss of my home and my memories. I have faced down monsters and death countless times because you asked me too. My life is not a toy to be moved about by the likes of you and Elrond!”

“Do you think I see you as a toy Bilbo?” Gandalf asked dangerously quiet. “Do you think I am unmoved by what’s happened to you? Do you think I feel nothing watching you pick at your food? Avoiding the company of others? You are so lost in your own misery I worry you will drown in it!”

“Then I will drown!” she screamed.

“Not yet,” he said and thunder crashed across the clear blue sky. “We are not finished yet.”

“I am finished! I have done enough. I will leave. Today. I will go home and find my own way in the world without superheroes or monsters or death.”

“Gollum is still out there,” Gandalf countered. “And an army of super soldiers we haven’t yet found.”

“What?” Bilbo asked. “No. I don’t care. The League can deal with that.”

“They can,” Gandalf agreed. “But they’ve asked for your help. They need you Bilbo. We need you.”

“They followed Tho— _him_ without a word,” she corrected herself. “They stood there while he screamed at me. I had just saved their lives and none of them, _none of them_ , stood up for me.”

“We were all caught off guard by Thorin’s rage,” Gandalf told her. “Years of love and loyalty were suddenly challenged in the aftermath of a brutal battle. No one could believe he would do that.”

“Well then all of you are idiots,” she snapped.

“Maybe,” Gandalf agreed. “I certainly underestimated him.”

“Gandalf why can’t you just—” she trailed off, lost and broken, her hands empty at her sides. “I don’t want to fight for you.”

“Dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said, deflating in front of her as a terrible sadness made him seem decades older. “I am sorry to ask this of you. I am sorry there is not more time to recover. I have tried to give you time, but I know we didn’t get to you fast enough and for that I can never ask forgiveness.”

“I cannot go back there,” Bilbo whispered. “I cannot face him after what I’ve done.”

“What you’ve done,” Gandalf sat forward earnestly, “was save the lives of everyone in this city. If he cannot see that he does not deserve you.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t want to see him.”

“You won’t have to,” Gandalf said. “He’s disappeared—nobody knows where he is or when he’ll return. He vanished after the battle. It is Dwalin and Bombur that want to see you. They’re waiting for you right now.”

“What?” Bilbo jerked back, the news of Dwalin and Bombur unheard. “Why aren’t you out looking for him?”

“I thought you didn’t want to speak of him Bilbo,” Gandalf asked her.

“Well I—I,” she stammered. “I don’t want him to do something stupid either.”

“I think it’s too late for that,” Gandalf told her. “Did you hear what I said about Dwalin and Bombur? They’ve asked to see you.”

“I don’t want to go to the penthouse,” Bilbo waved him off.

“They’re not at the penthouse,” Gandalf told her. “They’ve come for a visit. They’re in the front room.”

Bilbo’s face went through a comical contortion of expressions as she processed what he said. “You are a sneaky old man.”

“I’ve been called much worse,” he said. “Come. Let’s go say hello to your friends.”

 

 

Bilbo entered the front room cautiously; five days—five days of Elrond and Gandalf and well-meaning strangers and unfamiliar voices. No visits, no phone calls, not even a message and now—her friends were back turning everything upside down. She had protected all of them as she’d promised to do, and then they’d watched her be led away without so much as an apology. She had assumed they’d all returned to the penthouse to rebuild. Bilbo was surprised to realize how much their silence had hurt her, but somewhere along this adventure she started to think of them all as family. But none of them had cared. If Gandalf hadn’t followed behind her, his steady pace forcing her forward Bilbo wasn’t sure she would have made it into the room.

“God you’re a mess!” Bombur said before Bilbo was even through the door. She rushed forward and swept Bilbo into a tight hug as Bilbo hung stiffly in her arms.

“Bilbo,” Dwalin said with more reservation, the cautious look in her eyes saying she, at least, saw Bilbo’s discomfort. Bombur backed away slowly, releasing her with a hesitancy Bilbo didn’t understand.

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo finally asked.

“We got tired of waiting for you to come to us!” Bombur laughed.

“Bombur,” Dwalin warned. “We’re here to see you Bilbo.”

“He hasn’t forbid it?” Bilbo asked, her tone more snide than she intended.

“Who knows,” Dwalin shrugged. “Wouldn’t matter to us if he had. We owe you a debt Bilbo Baggins.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Bilbo dismissed. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” Bombur said more seriously. “Unless something has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?” Bilbo asked. “I didn’t hear anyone else argue when I was called a traitor. Or a _disgusting_ liar.”

“That wasn’t right,” Dwalin told her, “He shouldn’t have said that.”

“None of us knew what to do,” Bombur said. “We were too shocked. And then Gandalf had you and I just—I didn’t want to make it worse. We were worried you wouldn’t want to see any of us.”

“You are all I have!” Bilbo burst. “You’re my only friends in the world! Why would I want you to abandon me like that after I’d been captured and—and—”

“Bilbo,” Dwalin said, one strong hand reaching out to steady her. “I am sorry. We all are. I’m at your service for what you’ve done.”

“And me,” Bombur said seriously. “Yours and your family’s.”

“I thought you were my family,” Bilbo whispered.

For a moment a look so tender crossed Dwalin’s fierce features Bilbo was sure she imagined it, but then she was swept into a second hug—this one by Dwalin herself. Strong, tattooed arms encircled her completely and Bilbo felt herself breathe deeply for the first time in five days. Her friends had not forgotten her—not entirely.

“Oof!” Bilbo cried. Bombur had come up from behind, turning the hug into a dog pile and crushing Bilbo’s smaller body between them. Bilbo felt something like happiness spark inside her. It was the greatest feeling in the world.

“We _are_ you’re family now Bilbo Baggins,” Dwalin said. “You’re stuck with us. You’ve saved all our lives. And the city.”

“You’re a part of Durin’s League now Bilbo,” Bombur told her. “A real bonafide superhero.”

“Oh goody,” Bilbo laughed weakly. “Just what I always wanted.”

The funny thing, she realized, was that maybe that was true.


	14. Coming Home

Bilbo was silent as the elevator crawled up to the penthouse. Now that they were here she wanted to turn around; how had she let them talk her into this? She should be putting her life back together not searching for a missing army, but less than a week ago she would have done this without hesitation. Her friends still needed her and she couldn’t abandon them because Thorin now hated her. The thought fired across her brain leaving her wrecked in its wake and Bilbo was caught between denial and hating it was true. She had to get herself together; coming back to the penthouse made her feel empty and unexpectedly vulnerable. They had promised her he wasn’t here, but Bilbo’s heart hammered in her chest terrified at the thought of seeing him and terrified she wouldn’t. The elevator dinged.

“You’re stuff’s in the bedroom,” Dwalin told her, “but everybody’s worried about you. They all want to see you.”

Bilbo nodded.

“He’s not here Bilbo,” Bombur reassured her. “We called ahead.”

“I know.” Bilbo told herself that was a good thing.

“I’m not trying to be insensitive, but we have to find those monsters. If Smaug found a way to modify his invulnerability into them we can’t do this without you,” Dwalin reminded her. “This mission isn’t optional.”

“You need me to commit mass murder.” Bilbo wondered when violence had become so commonplace in her life. “Got it.”

“We want you to help save the city,” Dwalin corrected. “Maybe the world.”

No one noticed when they walked in—people bustled around jostling and yelling at each other as elbows and superpowers collided in a chaos of rubble and mess. The penthouse was exactly as she remembered, if a little more breezy; Ori, Dori, and Gloin were patching the holes in the walls and a chorus of angry voices argued in the back rooms. More bodies worked outside, sweeping up glass and rock. A fist tightened around Bilbo’s heart; it was ridiculous how much she had missed this.

“Bilbo!” someone shouted just before a strong body plowed into hers, lifting her off her feet in a bear hug.

“Don’t crush her Kili!” Fili laughed, but no sooner had Kili put her down before she was swept up again, this time by Fili in a hug even tighter than before. “It’s good to see you!”

They passed her around like a sack of potatoes, crushing hugs and rough pats mussing her hair as nine bodies tried to greet her at once; by the time Bilbo had run the gauntlet of greetings she was breathless and discombobulated and smiling her first real smile in a week.

“We’ve been worried sick Bilbo,” Nori said.

“But we didn’t want to crowd you,” Bofur added.

“We were worried you might need some time,” this from Oin.

“We’re so glad you’re back,” Kili smiled.

“Give her some space. Give her some space!” Balin shoved his way next to her, forcing the happy jostlers back. Bilbo bit the inside of her check to quell all these sudden stupid feelings; they really hadn’t abandoned her.

“Bilbo we want to apologize,” Balin said seriously and the room went silent—somber eyes dropping to the ground. “All we can do now is ask for your forgiveness.”

Bilbo nodded immediately, worried her stupid voice would crack. Despite all the rage and pain and hurt of the last week she could never stay angry at these stupid fools; their silent transgression was not unforgiveable. She’d wanted so desperately in the aftermath of Smaug to know she wasn’t alone and now here they all were, apologizing with bare sincerity and reminding her she wasn’t alone, reminding her she had a family if she wanted it. And Bilbo did. She so very much did.

“Really?” Kili was the first to speak.

“Really,” Bilbo sniffed. There was a roar and she was crushed again, Dwalin and Bombur joining in this time as everyone erupted in cheers and apologies and hugs. Each hug, each smile, each teasing declaration of love and welcome did wonders for Bilbo’s wounded soul—maybe Thorin would never speak to her again, but she wouldn’t walk away from this. She couldn’t walk away from them; they had become her family and she would keep her distance if it came to that, but she would never, could never abandon them completely.

“Alright, alright!” Bilbo laughed at the pushy throng. “ALRIGHT.”

They spread back out slowly, her shout barely heard above the din and outright ignored by Fili and Kili who insisted on shouldering between her and Dwalin and Bombur.

“We’ll have the holes patched by tonight,” Fili told her.

“And we’re getting the rest of the furniture delivered tomorrow,” Kili added.

“If you want you can help clean up roof,” Gloin suggested.

“I’ll send Bombur for pizza in a bit and we can eat outside tonight,” Oin said “and tomorrow—”

“I’m sure I’ll be back at Elrond’s before dinner time,” Bilbo reassured them. “But I’m happy to help clean up before I go.” It took her a moment to realize everyone had stopped moving again.

“You’re leaving?” Nori asked.

“Well,” Bilbo said, “not for good. But obviously I can’t live here anymore.”

“What?” Dori shouted. “But you ca—”

Nori’s elbow cut him off with a quick strike to the kidney. “Go show Bilbo what she can do outside. Before the _weather_ turns.”

“Oh it was clear when we drove up,” Bilbo reassured them, sorry for their crestfallen expressions, but set on going back to Elrond’s later. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

“I’m sure there was a chance of rain today,” Nori said. “Better safe than sorry.”

Bilbo didn’t bother trying to decipher the strange look on Nori’s face or the way Dori’s eyes widened slightly. They had always been strange brothers—sweet but strange.

She worked outside with Dori, Dwalin, Bombur, and Bifur. It was mostly clean up duty and they fell easily into a pattern. Bifur and Bombur collected all the gravel, cement, and debris building a huge pile in the center of the roof while Dori manipulated the structural beams of the building ensuring everything was as sound and straight as it was before the attack. Bilbo worked on little things like sweeping, shoveling, and organizing—she scrubbed at a bloodstain on the cement for an hour; she told herself it was from one of Smaug’s minions. Eventually Ori came out and the pile of rock and debris melted, flowing formlessly into a sort of liquid earth that slithered over the edge of the roof and down the ruined side of the building. Bilbo stuck her head out and watched as Dori picked up his brother, holding him up in midair so Ori could see the building as he patched the holes, reforming the mud back into a solid concrete like material around Dori’s beams.

“You should all start a construction business,” Bilbo laughed. Their powers still took her breath away. When finished they headed back inside to a much cleaner interior—Oin and Gloin were painting, each with a roller in hand and three more moving of their own accord—it was the quickest repair job Bilbo had ever seen, but she realized the front room wasn’t the only one to be painted recently. They’d worked hard this week, and she was surprised at how sorry she was to have missed it. Feeling torn but decided, she debated how to ask about her backpack when thunder rolled somewhere off in the distance; that was odd, she thought. It had been clear only a little while ago.

“Pizza!” Bombur called from the living room. Bilbo came out to see the highest stack of pizza boxes in her life weaving its way through the crowd.

“I should be getting back,” Bilbo told Dwalin.

“Bombur just got here with the pizza,” Dwalin told her. “Stay for dinner at least.”

“You’re not taking a cab and I’m not taking you back until I eat,” Bombur said simply.

“Fine,” Bilbo laughed, dropping cross-legged to the carpet next to a box of ham and mushroom. “But you’re taking me back after pizza.” Bombur waved her off; Bilbo was too distracted by her rumbling stomach to notice the wind pick up outside and the potted plants that had miraculously survived the attack nearly bending in half.

“Save some for me Bilbo!” Fili laughed dropping next to her.

“Get your own pizza,” Bilbo told him.

“Mushrooms?” Kili turned up his nose.

“Is this your pizza?” she asked.

“It’s the principle of the thing. And you can’t have a whole pizza to yourself.”

“Watch me.” She nearly bit an entire slice off in one go. “Whatever’s left we save for elevensies.”

The next boom of thunder was so loud it shook the walls.

“Good grief!” Bilbo choked.

“Would you look at that,” Ori said. “Sounds like a pretty bad storm.” As if on cue lightning flared outside followed instantaneously by another deafening crash.

“It was clear an hour ago,” Bilbo said with disbelief.

“You know how these things go,” Dori shrugged. “Move in fast.” A torrential downpour began.

“That looks pretty bad Bilbo,” Bombur shook her head. “We don’t want to go out in that.”

“Oh no,” Bilbo stopped her. “I’m not staying here tonight.”

“Why not?” Dwalin asked. “You’re already here. Everything’s cleaned up. And it looks pretty bad out there.”

“We’re on a mission to destroy an army of genetically modified monsters and you’re telling me you can’t take me home in a rain storm?”

The lights surged as lightning struck the building and ran to ground.

“You can’t punch a thunderstorm Bilbo,” Balin said.

“This is ridiculous,” Bilbo huffed.

“Come on Bilbo,” Bombur said. “Just stay. It’s just us—what’s the problem?”

Bilbo looked around at the circle of faces with a symphony of pleading and hopeful expressions staring back at her. There was no way Thorin would fly through a storm like this, she told herself and, if she were truly honest about it, she didn’t really want to leave.

“Fine.” A chorus of cheers erupted. “But I don’t suppose, that is—did anyone find my backpack?”

The chorus cut off in an awkward choke.

“Well, uh,” Kili stumbled, “That is we found it. But all the bedding was kind of destroyed.”

“And…it was ruined?” Bilbo asked.

“No we uh, we put it someplace safe,” he said awkwardly. Bilbo raised her eyebrows waiting.

“It’s in Thorin’s room,” Fili said.

“Oh.” Was that it? “Then it’s okay?”

“Oh yeah!” Fili reassured her. “Came through just fine.”

“So what’s the problem?” Bilbo asked when they still looked awkwardly weird.

“Well,” Kili said slowly. “I mean, it’d be best if you just slept in his room tonight. I mean that room. I mean he’s not here so it doesn’t matter. Right?”

Bilbo pursed her lips and stared at him.

“It’s the only open bed in the place,” Balin jumped in. “Most everything was ruined and we don’t have any spare sleeping bags yet. And we’d go get some but the storm.”

“Yeah the storm,” Kili nodded.

“Under no circumstances,” Bilbo enunciated carefully. “Am I going to sleep in that room.”

“It’s just because of the storm,” Fili said again. “Just for tonight. Until it blows over.”

“The storm,” she said.

They all nodded eagerly in agreement. Bilbo narrowed her eyes at them suspiciously.

“Stop being so sensitive!” Dwalin slapped her on the back. “It’s just for tonight. You’ll have your own bed tomorrow.”

“You’ll have me back at Elrond’s tomorrow,” Bilbo corrected.

“Oh yeah,” Dwalin nodded. “Absolutely.”

Bilbo would bet her mother’s fine china they were up to something, but the idea of a sudden hurricane just to keep her there for a night was too much even for them. Besides whatever their plan was this storm would keep Thorin out as much as it kept her here. Sensing she wouldn’t win this fight she opted for a graceful retreat.

“Fine,” Bilbo said. “But you’re taking me back to Elrond’s tomorrow even if an F5 touches down.”

Their chorus of promises sounded mostly sincere.

Everyone bedded down early making a show of being sore and tired. Dwalin stayed up with her for a while, but eventually it was just Bilbo by herself standing outside a closed door. Thorin’s door. Thorin’s bedroom door.

“Such a small thing,” Bilbo whispered to herself. It was just a room, and he wasn’t even here. They hadn’t even really spent that much time together in the penthouse. She had agreed to it and it was done and she just needed to stop being silly about this. Besides it wasn’t like her heart was going to hurt any less if she slept out here on the floor.

She entered in a rush like she was charging into battle, pulse pounding, adrenaline surging—and then she was standing in the middle of an empty room by herself panting like an idiot. “You killed a dragon Bilbo Baggins, get it together.”

Her bag sat innocuously on top of the covers. The bed was made and the room smelled new and fresh like the rest of the penthouse, but underneath the fresh paint smell there was still a hint of _him_. Maybe she imagined it, but Bilbo was torn between an urge to bury her face in the pillows and incinerate everything. Everything inside her wished he was here standing next to her, but everything inside her also wanted to run as far away from everything connected to Thorin Oakenshield as she could. Ripping the bag from the bed she got ready for bed battling the paradox in her heart; anger and irritation were her only defense right now and she sank into them gratefully. She was in hisroom, surrounded by his things. How had she let them talk her into this? Why was she here? Didn’t they know how much this hurt? It wasn’t like it was a secret she and he shared a room at Laketown. Could they really be that dense? Their faces flashed in front of her tamping down the irritation with their foolish openness. Yes, she supposed, they could. Still.

Finally out of excuses and easily as terrified as she had been facing down Smaug Bilbo crawled into bed tentatively, hugging the very edge despite being alone. It was going to be a long night.

 

 

She was dreaming again. Bilbo knew it was a dream, but no one would listen to her. They were all going to fight Smaug, somber and stone-faced, and she kept trying to tell them Smaug was dead. She had killed him. They had all been there. This was a dream and if they would just listen they could stop this. They could be happy. It was over. Why didn’t they want to be happy? But Dwalin was ignoring her, brushing her off and Bombur was putting on brass knuckles and that was when Bilbo heard it. The beat of strong wings outside. The sound of a huge body slithering through the air. He was coming. He was here. They needed to go. They needed to go now. Bilbo could get them out. She could protect them, but no one was listening to her. Smaug was coming and no one stood a chance against him—he was too terrible. Why weren’t they listening to her? Why weren’t they running! A flash of light blinded her and Bilbo spun, waiting to feel the agonizing torture of disintegrating flesh. She would die now. They all would. This is how they died screaming.

Bilbo opened her eyes—her body perfectly still. Her limbs were still locked in place and her breath lodged in her throat. For a moment the nightmare held her paralyzed as it always did; sometimes she wanted to wake up screaming. At least tonight someone might have heard her. At least tonight someone might have cared, but the nightmares robbed her of her voice as much as her rest. Her brain stuttered and kicked back into gear and she realized the room wasn’t dark; she was in Thorin’s room, at Thorin’s penthouse. Her friends were a few feet away. But the light was on and she was sure she had turned it off. As if that realization finally returned her soul to her body, she spun and sat up in bed, but she’d rolled towards the center in the night and the covers tangled around her, making her movements slow and clumsy. She slammed back against the wall in a mess of hair and sheets, one hand dragging the middle blanket with it and sending the comforter to the floor.

Standing at the foot of the bed, soaking and dripping all over the carpet was Thorin. Bilbo stared at him, trying to process if he was real. He was so beautiful it took her breath away, and it made her want to scream in agony.

“Am I awake?” It was a dream. She was still dreaming. The nightmare had only shifted into something even more torturous.

He didn’t move. She would have doubted he was real, but then he blinked and when she looked closer she could see the water running down his skin. He was drenched, his clothes and hair plastered to his body and he seemed tired—haggard in ways he wasn’t before.

“Why are you here?” It wasn’t what she wanted to ask; she didn’t even know how it came out, but the dream was still pulling at her, making her fuzzy around the edges and she suddenly couldn’t believe they’d talked her into staying—in his room no less. It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. She shouldn’t be here. Even if he hadn’t come back tonight she should have respected his privacy; even if he hated her she still should have respected him.

He still hadn’t made a sound.

“I should go.” Bilbo shook her head as she tried to get up, but the covers were wrapped around her trapping her legs and leaving her with few options to free herself—all of them undignified. This was not how she wanted this to go. She started by pushing the covers down, hoping to maybe slide out the top, but her giant t-shirt had been pushed up and she only succeeded in revealing an embarrassing amount of torso before she got her clothing in order. She yanked at the blankets around her feet again, but they only tightened their hold.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, furious to realize she was close to tears. He just kept _staring_ at her. “I know I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come back. I’m sorry.” She felt like she had after the battle, like the last week hadn’t happened. In an instant she was back there, back in the terrible aftermath of killing Smaug, being shook and screamed at by the only person she wanted to touch her; the emotions were immediate and raw and the only thing she could remember, the only thing she could feel was that terrible crushing weight on her chest—that horrible feeling of constriction like something was squeezing her ribcage until even her heart didn’t have room to beat.

Thorin turned on his heel and walked out of the room. The feelings built and built, a terrible eruption pushing up her throat—and disappeared. A switch flipped and she felt nothing. She knew she was upset, but she couldn’t actually feel any of it.

Bilbo methodically finished freeing herself from the bed. She took a minute to get dressed and repack her bag before putting her arms through the straps and walking out the door. She was leaving. Now. She never should have come here; she certainly shouldn’t have stayed. Not until she could trust herself around Thorin. Not until she could trust herself not to feel around Thorin. She pulled up sharp in the living room, though; everyone was awake, their faces a mixture of grogginess, guilt, and anger. Thorin had Nori up against a wall, one hand around his neck.

The switch flipped back and suddenly there was only feeling—white, hot, blinding, rage coated her. It started at her chest and rolled out, destroying everything in its path. Bilbo’s backpack hit the floor and then her hand was an inch from Thorin’s face, a glowing blue ball pulsing millimeters from his eyes as she inserted herself between him and Nori.

“Put. Him. _Down_.”

Thorin dropped Nori like a sack of potatoes and then all hell broke loose.

“What are you doing Thorin?!” Balin bellowed.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Kili shouted.

Bifur and Bofur barely held Bombur back while Dwalin lit up like a Christmas tree, a glowing axe in each hand as she paced and growled. Thorin and Bilbo stared at each other and this time it was Thorin who broke first.

“Nori refused to stop his pet thunderstorm,” he said calmly.

“It has to run its course,” Nori said hoarsely, rubbing his throat. “It’s too big now to just stop.”

“You came in through it,” Bilbo pointed out. “You can leave the same way.”

“I barely made it through,” Thorin replied strangely, never breaking eye contact with her. “And I’m only here because they called and said there was an emergency.”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed as she processed what he said. Finally her gaze shifted from Thorin to Balin but she didn’t drop her hand. The room went very suddenly, very awkwardly, quiet.

“Ah,” Balin stammered, “that is—”

“ _When_ ,” Bilbo said slowly, “did you call him about this ‘emergency’?”

“A few hours ago,” Thorin answered. “That’s why I came through the storm.”

“You were supposed to be here before the storm got this bad,” Dori mumbled.

“It’s not my fault!” Nori said. “She was bound and determined to leave. A little rain was not going to cut it!”

“Dwalin and Bombur were supposed to convince her to stay!” Dori deflected.

“Hey we got her here,” Bombur snapped.

“Barely,” Oin sniped. “And Fili and Kili nearly ruined everything with that backpack trick.” Fili and Kili were conspicuously quiet at that.

“YOU PLANNED ALL OF THIS?” Bilbo thundered. She had enough rage to go around and her hands dropped to her side, still pulsing, as she reevaluated her targets; Thorin was no longer the only person in danger of being incinerated.

“Encouraged lass,” Balin said with placating hands. “We’ve got a real threat out there and we wanted to—encourage you and Thorin to resolve this…misunderstanding.”

“You’ve got a real threat in here,” Bilbo jabbed her finger at him, “and the only misunderstanding was when I thought he was anything but a—a—a jackass!” Bilbo wasn’t a natural curser, but it was the thought that counted.

Thorin spun away and stalked toward the door back to the patio but suddenly Dwalin was there, blocking his escape.

“Move,” he growled.

“Shut up.”

“I’m going back to Elrond’s,” Bilbo threw up her hands, done with all of this. “You can find Gollum and the others without me. Let me know when it’s time to fight and I’ll be there.”

“What others?” Thorin asked.

“Smaug’s maybe hidden army?” Bilbo snapped. “Did you forget there’s more in this world than you?”

“This could have gone better,” Gloin sighed.

“It probably couldn’t have gone worse,” Balin said.

“You’re all still alive aren’t you?” Bilbo flung at them. “Move. I’m getting my stuff and leaving.”

“The roads are flooded,” Thorin said.

“What?”

“The roads are flooded,” he spoke like every word pained him. “There’s no way to leave unless one of us flies you.”

“Well it’s lightning like every three seconds, so that seems a touch foolish doesn’t it,” Bilbo retorted.

“Exactly.”

“So we’re all stuck here until morning?” she asked Nori.

At least he had the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Sorry.”


	15. Buried Alive

After a little more fighting and significantly more creative cursing from Dwalin everyone finally retired to their rooms. Bilbo ended up back in the bed with Thorin sleeping on the floor of the living room. She wanted to move, but then he made a crack about traitor friends and Bombur practically shoved Bilbo through the door. Oin called him a drama queen, Dwalin punched him in the stomach, and Bilbo smiled at him as Bombur slammed the door shut behind her. It was sixes right now if Thorin was going to make it through the rest of the night without being murdered in his sleep.

She slept fitfully the rest of the night which had become so normal she barely noticed anymore, and when Bilbo finally rolled over and blinked bleary eyes it felt like she hadn’t really slept at all; she stumbled out of the bedroom heading straight for the coffee. And ran right into a half-clothed Thorin coming out of the kitchen. Her face pancaked into his chest and her traitorous hussy let her know exactly who’s chest it was; it was his smell, that stupid delicious, wonderful scent that was uniquely his that undid her. Exhausted and unprepared Bilbo’s first instinct was to wrap her arms around him and crawl into his lap; disgusted with herself she jerked away and focused instead on how good it would feel to wrap her arms around him and throw him off the roof.

Caught between her pounding arousal and his rock-hard chest, Bilbo did the only thing any sane woman could do with a face full of Thorin Oakenshield before so much as a sip of coffee: she flailed like an rabid octopus, tripped over her own feet, and made a strange grunting noise as she fell into the wall. Thorin reacted with those damnable super-reflexes, throwing an arm out to catch her, but only succeeded in getting pulled off balance by her kicking and grasping limbs. Bilbo hit the wall hard, her head saved by his palm between her skull and the drywall, and for one glorious second every inch of his stubborn, stupid, half-dressed sexy self was pressed up against hers. She let out an embarrassingly loud noise and felt her body flush.

Thorin jerked back like she burned him, his eyes wide and panicked as he scampered away from her so fast she wondered how he didn’t spill his coffee. The patio door slid shut behind him and Bilbo dropped her face in her hands. Then she heard the snickering. Coming back to her feet with a grace fueled by mortified rage Kili’s face blanched as she stuck him in the chest with a finger.

“If you so much as _sniff_ , I will blast off every body part you absolutely don’t need to survive,” Bilbo told him. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Coffee?” Fili offered with an innocent smile. Thankfully that was the last thing anyone said to her for a good long while.

Interminable hours later, Bilbo tipped her head back and sighed. If she didn’t know better she would say they weren’t even trying to find Smaug’s hidden bases. Well, she did know better, but after she threatened the reproductive systems of every one of them she did believe they were trying their best. Honestly it was a miracle they ever managed to save the city in the first place. How had she not seen what a bunch of bumbling, lucky _idiots_ they all were before? And why did she ever think they could do this without her?

“You’re not really going to go back to Elrond’s are you?” Dwalin asked, coming up beside her. Bilbo was standing at the ledge, watching the sunset behind the skyline—the remnants of Nori’s storm leaving the building’s glistening and sparkling in the fractured rays.

“I can’t believe I haven’t left yet,” Bilbo said.

“This is where you belong Bilbo.”

“This is where Thorin belongs and he can’t stand me,” Bilbo pointed out. “Whether he’s justified in feeling that way or not it’s the truth. And this is his penthouse.”

“This is _our_ penthouse and Thorin is a fuckhead,” Dwalin said succinctly. “Always has been.”

Bilbo snorted and choked.

“He’ll come around,” Dwalin told her. “You should stay.”

“I don’t have a right to be here if he doesn’t want me to be,” Bilbo started.

“He’s our leader not our king,” Dwalin cut her off. “He forgets that sometimes.”

“I don’t like feeling this way in front of everyone,” Bilbo confessed. “And this is pretty awkward for both of us.”

Dwalin shrugged and produced a bottle of whiskey from somewhere. “Nobody said being a superhero was easy. Have a drink and I promise you won’t care.”

“I—what?” Bilbo said. “No, no I couldn’t—”

“Do you not drink?” Dwalin asked.

“No it’s not that—”

“Then drink,” she ordered, handing Bilbo the bottle. “We’ve got ten minutes before Bombur finds us and kills the bottle in one gulp.” Bilbo had always been astoundingly vulnerable to peer pressure.

Bombur found them in five minutes, but she showed up with Oin and her own bottle; thirty minutes after that Bilbo realized whiskey didn’t really taste that bad. Two hours after _that_ she talked Oin into giving her a free telekinetic ride over the side of the building.

“Do you know how weird it is to be standing over open air??” Bilbo screamed at them.

“Do you know how hard it is to do this when I’m drunk?” Oin shouted back.

“This is amazing,” Bilbo whispered. “I’m walking in the clouds. Maybe my superhero name could be Cloud Walker!”

“A) that’s the lamest superhero name I’ve ever heard,” Bombur belched. “B) Oin’s doing all the heavy lifting here.”

“Did you just call me fat?!”

“You are a stout little thing,” Dwalin pointed out. “But I like it.”

“You are all horrible people,” Bilbo told them. “Oin make me dance!”

“If you throw up out there I am not catching it,” Oin told her.

“If I throw up you should make it hit Thorin in the face,” Bilbo said.

“She looks so innocent,” Dwalin said to Bombur. “But her heart is so evil.”

“Do you ever hear thoughts you wish you couldn’t?” Bilbo asked Oin.

“Not usually anymore,” Oin answered after a second. “But sometimes.”

“How do you forgive people?”

“People can’t really help what they think,” Oin said. “Even when they think terrible things—they usually don’t mean it.”

“How can you tell?” Bombur asked.

“Thoughts and feelings are…complicated,” Oin shrugged. “People can love and hate at the same time. Sometimes they think awful things about others because they’re so angry at themselves. Sometimes they’re trying so hard to say something nice, but it comes out all wrong.”

“Can you feel what they feel?” Bilbo asked, massacring the pirouette in her little telekinetic bubble.

“Not exactly,” Oin said. “But I can tell what they feel. If that makes sense.”

“Hey,” Bombur smiled wickedly, “you should tell her what Thorin feels.”

“You realize that’s massively unethical,” Dwalin said dryly.

“I don’t want to know,” Bilbo said with her nose up. Then she shot a look at Oin. “Why do you know something?”

“I am not going to invade people’s minds,” Oin told them. “That’s like mind-reading 101.”

“But you could give her a hint,” Bombur suggested, belching again. “Just to put her at ease.”

Dwalin reached out and cuffed Bombur on the back of the head. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“I don’t like to see my friends fighting,” Bombur sniffed.

“Are you,” Bilbo squinted at them in the darkness. “Are you _crying_?!”

“I’m sensitive when I drink,” Bombur told her. She belched again.

Several things happened at once then: Bifur crashed through the newly repaired patio door. Oin jumped in shock and forgot to maintain her hold on Bilbo. And Bilbo plunged through the open night air.

It never even occurred to her to scream. She’d nearly fallen to her death so many times it was starting to feel like just another Sunday, and she was too drunk to be too worked up about the whole thing. She heard Dwalin’s shout before the roaring wind blocked everything else out and then Bilbo rolled and held her arms out, wondering if this was what it felt like to fly. Somebody would catch her any second now she was sure, so she might as well enjoy the ride.  A hard body slammed into hers and she was a little sorry they hadn’t waited just a bit longer to save her, but then she was turned in midair and saw who it was that was holding her.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?” Thorin howled at her.

“I knew someone would catch me.”

“You could have _died_.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Are you,” he screeched to a halt midair, his face a comical farce between rage and confusion. “Are you drunk?”

His jostling squeezed out a belch Bilbo let go in his face. “Maybe a little.”

“You got drunk and threw yourself off a building?!”

“What? Threw myself? Why would I do that. That’s dangerous.”

He inhaled, probably to scream at her again.

“I need you to stop shouting at me all the time,” she cut him off.

He deflated like a missed sneeze. “I don’t shout at you all the time.”

She didn’t deign to respond to that.

“I thought,” he said in a martyred tone, “that you jumped off the roof.”

“So?” Bilbo laughed bitterly. “Why do you care?”

Even drunk she could see that stung. “Of course I care. It…bothered me.”

“Waking up bothers you,” Bilbo countered. “And Oin dropped me.”

They were jerking in the air as Thorin’s continued confusion made him start and stop at every word out of Bilbo’s mouth.

“She was holding me up with telekinesis,” Bilbo explained. “And I’m pretty sure it’s your fault.”

He shook his head and started flying again.

“You are such a drama queen,” Bilbo sighed cathartically. “Oh it feels good to say that out loud!”

“I am—” he started loudly, but stopped when Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at him. He finished in the most satisfyingly petulant voice. “Not dramatic.”

They landed on the roof then and Bilbo looked up at him, the weight of what just happened settling back on her shoulders with gravity. They’d been talking, arguing yes, but talking—almost like they didn’t hate each other. She wished so desperately she could hate him.

“I thought you…jumped,” Thorin whispered. They were alone out here, everyone else was back inside and the dangerous intimacy of the dark engulfed them.

“I didn’t,” Bilbo told him. He hadn’t released his hold on her, her body still gripped in his hands, his breath fluttering across her skin when he exhaled.

“Bilbo I…”

“ _I’m sorry,”_ she wanted him to say. His fingers tightened, pulling her fractionally closer. She wanted to be crushed against him, to bury her face in his neck as she ripped her fingernails down his back. One “ _I’m sorry”_ and she would forgive it all.

“Bilbo,” he said again, her name a broken prayer in the dark. She let her fingers sink into his hair, pulling his forehead down to hers as they clutched at each other. “Bilbo…how could you?”

Her fingers spasmed. “I…what?”

“How could you do that to me?”

“How could I—” The world was a terrible parody of itself. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t—not after everything he’d done. Everything he’d _said_. She pulled back, holding her arms up like he was contagious and leaning as far away as his grip allowed. “Let go of me.”

“Bilbo—”

“No,” she cut him off. “You…you aren’t going to talk anymore. _Let me go_.”

His grip loosened and she jerked away from him, but he grabbed her arm when she tried to walk away. “Why can’t you just say you’re sorry?”

All the nightmares, the sleepless nights, the panic attacks, the crushing heartbreak—everything she’d been through since he’d crashed into her life, everything they’d been through together and even now she had still been willing to forgive him. After all of that she still would have taken him back if he’d just been sorry, if he’d just cared. But the only person he cared about was himself.

“You’re a monster,” she snarled at him. “And I can’t believe I ever loved someone like you.”

He jerked back like she’d slapped him. It was the meanest thing she knew to say and she almost regretted saying it immediately. Almost. Right now she was just happy she’d hurt him too.

 

 

Bilbo was still angry when she woke up and the hangover didn’t help. She stumbled out of the bedroom in search of water and morphine, anything to stop the misery of her body, but the sight of Bombur moaning on the couch and a bleary Oin pleading with the coffeemaker to brew faster made her feel marginally better. It was always nice to feel terrible together.

“Uuh,” Oin greeted her weakly. “You’re not mad I dropped you last night are you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bilbo waved her off.

“I was going to grab you again but Thorin—”

“Yeah,” Bilbo nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Did he, uh, did he apologize?” Oin asked.

Bilbo pinned her with her one good eye. “No. No he did not.”

“God he can be a dick,” Oin sighed.

Bilbo shrugged and held out the largest mug in the kitchen for Oin to fill.

“Let’s not drink whiskey tonight,” Bilbo told her.

“Okay,” Oin agreed. “That’s a good plan.”

Bilbo didn’t even pretend to help with the mission for most of the day; instead she took an open stretch of couch next to Bombur and praised her resourceful friends for having a new TV delivered with the furniture. By mid-afternoon she could stand up without feeling dizzy, and when Fili and Kili walked in with bags full of the most delicious egg sandwiches she’d ever smelled Bilbo declared her love then and there. She should have known it couldn’t last.

“Alright we have a mission,” Balin said, walking in front of the TV.

“Can’t it wait for commercial?” Bombur asked him. Without a word Balin picked up the remote, turned the television off, and threw the remote at Bombur’s face.

“We’re not taking down the army today are we?” Bilbo asked. She may have accepted her role as a superhero, but it was not a great day for saving the world.

“No just reconnaissance,” Balin assured her before launching into assignments. “We have several possible locations; we’ll split up and check them all out before reporting back tonight on what we find. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur you’ve got an abandoned subway station at 75th and Lexington. Nori, Ori, and Dori will investigate the Smaug Corp factory on the water. Fili and Kili take this address out in the suburbs—it’s a subsidiary of Smaug Corp. Oin and Gloin you have the secondary main office on Fifth. Get in, ask around, get out. Use your powers to cover your tracks and keep people from getting suspicious. Dwalin’s with me.”

“What about me?” Bilbo asked. Suddenly Balin had trouble meeting her eyes and Bilbo realized everyone else had conveniently disappeared after being told where to go.

“Uh,” Balin hedged. “I want you to know we didn’t do this on purpose.”

“No,” Bilbo said, already knowing where this was going. “Absolutely not.”

“We need someone to go back to the dam, and it has to be a flyer,” Balin said.

“Then why didn’t you send Bifur? Or Nori?” Bilbo argued, standing up and pacing.

“That dam is the most likely contact point and your powers are the best suited to do damage if you find anything,” Balin explained. “And we wanted you backed by our fastest flyer and most experienced fighter if you have to get out fast.”

“Bifur’s an amazing flyer!”

“I know it’s not ideal,” Balin told her.

“You did it on purpose,” Bilbo accused him.

Looking up Balin looked her in the eye, his voice and expression serious. “I know you’ve no reason to believe me, but I wouldn’t do ask you to do this without reason. I would _not_. This decision was made for your safety and the mission.”

Bilbo didn’t want to believe him, but Balin’s gaze was brutally serious. He held her stare until she finally looked away and nodded.

“We’ll see you tonight,” Dwalin told her. “Don’t get dead.”

The traitors walked out, leaving Bilbo frustrated and irritable. She understood they were going to have to learn to work together, but she didn’t think it would be so soon; this army wasn’t a joke, though. If Smaug’s creatures were functionally invulnerable to everyone but her and they attacked the city—no. Balin wouldn’t play games with a mission this serious. Two feet hit the patio outside and she took a bracing breath, knowing he was about to carry her. Perfect. Bilbo met his cold gaze through sheer force of will and felt her headache return as he scanned the empty penthouse. Maybe she was going to drink whiskey again tonight after all.

They took off without preamble, Bilbo relating the mission in short, direct sentences. When she was done Thorin wrapped an arm around her without a word, pulled her body flush against his and took off. There were few things more awkward in life, then flying through the air with an ex with whom she was still in the full-on-loathing-and-disgust-but-say-the-right-words-and-I’d-get-back-together-in-an-instant stage of breakup. It also didn’t help that of all the assignments she had to go back to the dam—even if Balin could have assured her it was empty, that awful room and their terrifying captivity still made its way into her nightmares on occasion. She’d killed for the first time there. It was not a place she was wanted to revisit.

Thorin stayed silent as they cut through the air, his grip hard and impersonal. They soared fast enough the wind stung her face and she eventually turned into his shoulder out of self-preservation. But then she was breathing him in with every inhale, and she told herself she didn’t have a choice and that she absolutely positively did not like it. If, after a while of flying, she shifted positions and wrapped more tightly around him, his muscles warm and familiar under her hands, it was purely because the flight was long and she was tired. They had gotten a late start but there were still a few hours of daylight left when Thorin pulled up, hovering above as he scanned the area. Woods stretched below them, the river winding its way through the foliage towards the city. Everything looked deserted.

“We’ll go in through the top. Stay behind me and don’t make a sound. If you see anything tap my shoulder once. Do not engage.” His voice was clipped and clear, his eyes never breaking from their surveillance.

Bilbo nodded, hating this feeling of anticipation and dread. She wondered if every mission would feel like this, but the surreal nature of that thought was even more unnerving; when had this become her normal? But then Thorin was touching down soundlessly and there was no more time for thinking. Bilbo fell into step behind him, moving soundlessly across the exposed walkway. He cracked the door open slowly and they slid inside, waiting a moment for their eyes to adjust. The power was on and dim lighting showed empty concrete hallways leading down into the complex. Bilbo strained her ears but heard nothing besides the low rush of water outside and the slight hum of machinery. Thorin took off, but didn’t outdistance her; they moved fast and silent past abandoned rooms, but Bilbo’s anxiety kept growing. Memories of their panicked escape flashed over her vision—she kept jerking around, thinking she heard the skittering of unnatural claws on concrete. They worked their way down methodically, examining each level as they went until they landed in some sort of control room; a bank of monitors flickered through vacant images and Bilbo scanned the labeled buttons for anything that might be code for “Super Secret Genetics Lab.” Nothing jumped out at her.

“Nothing here,” Thorin finally said. Even quiet his voice boomed in the eerie silence.

“Can we go then?” she asked. She could feel the tons of rock over them pushing down; the air tasted metallic and empty. Thorin looked at her for a moment like he could see her nerves unraveling, but he said nothing and only nodded. They had moved maybe thirty feet back down the hallway when the first explosions shook the ground under their feet.

“MOVE!” he roared, grabbing her hand and running. She was too slow—for all the training Bilbo was never going to be a sprinter and Thorin’s racing pace left her stumbling behind. More explosions rocked the ground and Bilbo tipped forward, off-balance. He caught her and whipped her across his body, super-strength making little work of her weight as he took off, flying in the small space of the corridors. The walls cracked and concrete started to fall inward, rock and dust pouring down around them. Thorin banked the corner into the stairwell, but he clipped it, the impact crushing the arm holding Bilbo and he dropped her with a roar of agony, slamming into the far wall with a sickening thud. She bounced like a ragdoll across the room, hitting the stair rail as more concrete shook and broke around her. With dazed eyes she pulled her arms over her head as dirt covered her and tried to breathe through the choking dust. The ground bucked beneath her, the explosions nearly as deafening as the roar of collapsing walls and twisting metal, but then a body covered hers and debris rained down around them, burying them alive.

Bilbo didn’t move for a very long time. Even after the explosions stopped and the crumbling walls settled she stayed curled in on herself, face buried in her knees with her arms protectively covering her head. Thorin moved over her, his body sliding across hers as he carefully moved back into a sitting position across from her. Somehow the rubble had fallen around them, trapping but not crushing and Bilbo could feel how precarious it was. Claustrophobia choked her, a long smothering death making her breath come in short panicked gasps. She couldn’t breathe; there was no oxygen. They would suffocate before their bodies were crushed. If they were lucky. What if they were stuck here? What if they had oxygen somehow and died trapped, slow and starving in their own waste and desperation?

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, grabbing her shoulders. “Bilbo!”

She didn’t realize she’d been making noise.

“Bilbo listen to me,” Thorin said. “Listen to me we’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“You can dig us out,” she said suddenly. “You have super-strength. You can dig us out. Just lift the debris out of the way.”

He shook his head but stayed close to her. “It doesn’t work that way Bilbo. I don’t know how many tons of rock are between us and the surface. It could crush you before I broke free.”

Her heart hammered and Bilbo fought for control against the panic. Her nightmares. Her nightmares were coming true. Smaug wasn’t dead. She hadn’t killed him. He had tricked them all somehow and now they were caught. Trapped and he was coming for them. He was on his way right now and Bilbo couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t face him again. It was too awful. What he’d done was too horrible and she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She would kill herself first.

“Bilbo listen to me,” Thorin said sharply and Bilbo realized he’d been talking for a while. “I’m here. We’re together. We’re going to get through this together.”

“You can heal,” Bilbo snapped at him, panic making her words tumble out. “You can heal but I can’t and you don’t care anyway. You’re just stuck with me again. Me. The woman you hate.”

“Shh,” Thorin whispered. She didn’t resist as he moved their bodies, rearranging them in the small space; he pulled her across his lap and tucked her head into his chest using himself to form a protective barrier between her and the tenuous rock. His arm had already healed. “I don’t hate you Bilbo. I could never hate you.”

“Don’t say that like I should know it. You think I should apologize.”

His hands stilled for a moment, then resumed their soothing motion rubbing circles in her back, smoothing her hair. He was stroking her, calming her and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. His touch was the only thing keeping her together right now and she hated that. But she hated the crushing darkness more.

“How could you?” she asked, but then her thoughts jumped again. How long before he got here? How long before it was all too late? “I won’t let him take me. Not again. I’ll die first.”

“Nobody’s taking you anywhere until the rest of the League comes looking for us,” Thorin said in a soft voice. “They’ll be here soon. We have protocols in place—they’ll come looking for us. They’ll get us out.”

“We don’t know if they’ll get here first.”

“Who would get here before them?”

“Smaug.”

His fingers spasmed and she sensed him looking down at her. “Smaug is dead. You killed him.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “We don’t know for sure. He was a monster; what if we only thought he was dead? What if he waited until we all left and crawled off somewhere to heal? He set this trap for us. The missing monsters, the hidden bases it was all a trap. And now he’s got us and he might get here first and I won’t fight him again. I can’t.”

“Smaug is dead Bilbo,” Thorin said, a little more firmly this time. “You killed him. He exploded.”

“But still—”

“No ‘still,’” he gave her a little squeeze. “He’s dead.”

“But how can we know for _sure_? We can’t—”

“I went back,” he said.

“Wha—what?”

“I went back. After you killed him. After I…left. I went back,” he said. “And checked.”

Bilbo couldn’t process that. “You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You’re lying,” she said again. “You’re lying. You were furious and you left me there. You just—you just left me there. You wouldn’t—you couldn’t have come back to check on Smaug and not even have wondered about me.”

“I’m not lying Bilbo,” he said softly.

She knew she was irrational; of course he would make sure Smaug was dead and of course he would never have checked on her. Bilbo could feel herself cracking along the edges, that unsteady sanity she’d rebuilt crumbling underneath her. She was going to die trapped in this hole with a man who cared more about a murderous monster than he did about the woman who loved him. Because he didn’t love her back and he never would.

“Even after I killed him,” she said, “it was still worth more to you that he was dead than I was alive.”

He was quiet for an eternity and his answer was a whisper. “I had to know Bilbo. I had to be sure.”

She laughed then but there was no humor in it; it was a bitter, empty sound. Bilbo didn’t even know what she felt anymore—everything had gone cold and she just wished she could escape this hell. Always him. Always she was trapped with him, touching him, arguing with _him_. How could she move on, how could she get over this when it was never Dwalin or Nori or Bombur in these situations? How was she supposed to stop feeling this way when his every touch lit her up and soothed her simultaneously? It was just too unfair. How safe and simple her life alone had been. Her laughter continued, edging into madness.

“You of all people know why!” he exploded. There was a desperate passion in his voice and his arms tightened begging her to understand, but Bilbo was limp in his grasp. Her laughter cut off abruptly; she didn’t have any fight left. It wasn’t Smaug that had ruined her. It was Thorin Oakenshield.

“He tortured me Thorin,” she whispered. “He tortured me and murdered thousands. He was invulnerable to your powers. He nearly killed you and every single member of the League, and I was watching you kill yourself. We were fighting for the lives of everyone— _everyone_ —and the only thing you ever thought about was yourself. I was fighting for the world. You were fighting for revenge.”

“No I, I needed to kill him,” Thorin told her, but she barely heard him. The panic was subsiding and her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. It was too dark to see anything anyway. “I needed to kill him.”

“You needed to think past your own pain,” she said. “What about my revenge? Or Nori’s? Or Fili or Kili’s? Why is your pain the only pain that matters?”

“Are you—are you crying?” Thorin asked her suddenly.

“What?” She was so tired. How had she never seen how selfish he was. How weak.

“Bilbo are you crying?” His voice was strange, almost like he really cared how she felt.

“No,” she sighed, letting her eyes drift shut. “I’m done crying over you.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said, then gave her a little shake. “Wake up. You need to stay awake. Stay with me Bilbo.”

“I’m tired,” she told him. His shaking was annoying her.

“I’m an idiot Bilbo,” he said, a strange intensity to his voice. “Tell me I’m an idiot—yell at me, I deserve it. I’ll listen this time. Come on Bilbo!”

Taking a deep breath Bilbo pushed out the one thing she wanted him to hear. The only thing she’d wanted to tell him every second, of every day since he left her sobbing in Gandalf’s arms.

“He tortured me Thorin.”


	16. Riddles in the Heart

Bilbo wasn’t sure how she felt about waking up. It had felt _so good_ to finally just…sleep. She supposed it was good not to be dead, but she was getting tired of near-death induced blackouts. To be fair she was also getting tired of being a superhero. But she was alive and, once again, back in the penthouse; the panic of the claustrophobia was now simply one more nightmare and she blinked it away with all the others. Despite the horrors of all she had endured since this started it wasn’t in Bilbo’s nature to give up and she supposed since she wasn’t dead she would have to keep fighting. Besides, Dwalin would kill her if she died. She was in this now until the end.

She moved carefully, unsure what would hurt and was surprised to find she only felt a little stiff. Something had her hand, though, and she looked to the side with consternation; Thorin sat hunched in a chair pulled up next to the bed. His head was pillowed on his arms, asleep on the edge next to her, her hand was gripped loosely in his own; Bilbo didn’t appreciate the way that made her feel. She tugged her hand free, the small movement enough to wake him and he bolted up with panicked eyes.

“You’re awake!” he said.

“Clearly.”

He ignored her sarcasm, immediately reaching for her head and feeling around her scalp. “How do you feel? Are you nauseous? Dizzy?”

“I feel like you’re pulling my hair,” Bilbo told him, hitting his hands away. “I’m fine. Thorin, I’m fine!”

That seemed to get through to him, finally, and he retreated back to his chair looking suddenly unsure of himself.

“I assume I hit my head,” she prompted him.

“I brought Elrond over,” he said earnestly. “To heal you.”

“Then I’ll have to send Elrond a thank you card,” she said, trying to hide her surprise at his placid tone. “What happened?”

“We were trapped and you lost a lot of blood,” he began but Bilbo stopped him.

“I guessed that,” she said quickly. “What happened with the mission?”

The way he stared at her was…unsettling—there was a tenderness there Bilbo want to squash. She didn’t want him like this—she couldn’t want him like this—not after everything. But Thorin didn’t speak immediately at her urging; he only looked at her for a long moment, the silence full of words she was terrified he would say.

“Most of the locations were traps. Nobody was seriously injured,” he finally said. “I made sure everyone was safe, but you were my priority. There was a lot of blood. I wasn’t sure how hurt you were.”

“Hmm,” Bilbo offered unable to meet his gaze. She wanted to call him fickle, to mock him for caring about her again, but there was nothing ephemeral in his gaze. And his hair was sticking up like a poorly mown lawn that gave Bilbo vicious urge to smooth it down; she curled her fingers into her palms instead. She wished she knew how to forgive him without still wanting him; regardless of their past they had to learn to live together and she desperately wanted to stop this terrible aching inside her.

“Bilbo,” he tried again, reaching out to steady her as she rose from the bed. “Bilbo I’m—”

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re about to say Thorin,” she cut him off, shaking free of his grasp. She had no idea if he was going to apologize or attempt to explain why he was right and either was equally horrifying. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’m going to eat the biggest meal of my life. After that we’ll figure out living arrangements. I’m not going to take your room from you permanently.”

He watched her totter to the bathroom, still a little unsteady on her feet and the magnitude of what she’d just said slammed her in the chest. “We’ll figure out living arrangements.” She hadn’t offered to go back to Elrond’s. She hadn’t said she would disappear if he was uncomfortable. She hadn’t reaffirmed her decision to leave once this mission was done. She had claimed her place in Durin’s League with no apologies and no hesitation. When had she gotten so cavalier with herself? Falling off buildings and being buried alive and she accepted it with equanimity; even the surety of new nightmare scenarios was starting to feel more like an inevitability than a tragedy. How could she run from this if she had the power to help others? But none of that really shocked her; no, it was the ease with which she accepted a life with _Thorin_ —a life with him and without him. A life…a life she wanted more than him, she realized. A life she wanted more than she wanted to avoid him. Her life. At some point in this ridiculous adventure Bilbo had done more than learn to wield her mother’s inheritance; she had rediscovered her power and had used it to fight for the world. She had fought and won against unimaginable evil and that was worth more than the heartbreak and the fighting and the nightmares. That was worth more than everything Bilbo had ever thought she wanted. Doing this, being this, had become what she wanted and that choice superseded everything else; she would not run from it and she would let nothing, and no one, take it from her—she was doing this for her now.

The shower came on and Bilbo slid into the hot spray of water with a moan as tension fled from her body. She took her time scrubbing every last speck of dirt from her hair and skin. There was a tender spot over her right ear, but she couldn’t feel so much as a scab. Elrond did good work. Which reminded her, Thorin had asked Elrond to heal her—since when did Thorin ask Elrond for help? Since when could he say Elrond’s name without that undertone of bitter hatred? But he had, Bilbo thought absently as she ran soap over her body. In fact there had been no hint of rage in his voice, no fleck of madness in his face. He was so beautiful when he was noble.

That thought was a traitor, sneaking up on Bilbo from her subconscious and overrunning her mind. A sudden vision flashed of him leaning over her, his bare torso sliding against her body as he pushed her knees apart and that pleasure so keen it was agonizing as he filled her. Bilbo gasped feeling her skin heat and tighten under the spray; she flirted with an idea, but it seemed wrong somehow. Impolite at best. Still—a sudden edginess tightened her muscles and sensitized her skin and when she looked up she saw the showerhead was detachable with alternate settings. The old Bilbo would never even have considered this, but this was her home now. And she wasn’t the old Bilbo. But mostly she liked the idea of doing it in Thorin’s shower.

Reaching up she lifted the nozzle from its cradle and flipped the setting to something stronger—a steady jet of water that made her bite her lip. And why not. She was alive—more alive than she had been in ages and despite how she felt when she first woke she wanted to celebrate that, to revel in it. With a sigh Bilbo gave in to the visions behind her eyelids; her free hand roamed across her body, cupping a breast as she remembered Thorin touching her, the way his beard chafed her skin when he mouthed his way down her body. Her other hand lowered and the water made her knees shake when it hit, a steady pressure that had her breathing in gasps as she fought to hold her aim steady. She focused on the way he looked between her thighs and nearly half-fell, collapsing on the lip of the tub when her legs stopped working. The hot wetness of his mouth on her skin, the way he would tease her—kissing up her thighs, around her stomach, fingertips brushing with no pressure until she begged him with frustrated moans. She slid her hand down, two fingers slipping inside, finding and stroking nerves begging for attention and she braced her other hand against her thigh to keep her aim on point. Her body was shaking now, her fingers clenching around the showerhead as that unforgiving stream pounded her; her hips started bucking, slipping on the porcelain edge of the tub and she fought against herself, struggling to maintain enough control to finish but wanting to lose herself in the fantasy. She imagined Thorin’s fingers—long, thick fingers sliding in and out of her with careful insistence—his roughness increasing with her insanity until she was riding his face, body thrusting against him in a wild drive for release. The orgasm ripped out of her and with her last remaining inch of will Bilbo held her hand steady, riding the convulsions out until they’d edged off from bliss to over-sensitivity. The showerhead slid from her grip into the tub, the water suddenly thunderous as it pounded into porcelain instead of hot, yielding skin. And Bilbo just sat there, breathing, for a good, long while. That was a good idea.

Clean and significantly more relaxed, Bilbo toweled off in front of the mirror and smiled at her reflection. She was a little sad magical healing meant no scars; her body was different, the training and injuries had changed the terrain of her skin and muscles, but they weren’t drastic. She still looked like her—short, soft, and mostly harmless. There were pink marks on her neck and sides from the wounds at the dam but nothing on her head or stomach; nothing from Smaug. Bilbo thought of Dwalin’s tattoos and Oin’s hardened visage. She’d probably look like an idiot but still—she liked the idea of wearing her victories on her skin. She admitted there was something soothing about recognizing herself in the mirror, though; she was different, evolved, a fighter in her own right, but she was still the same Bilbo Baggins she’d always been. She’d come into her own strength, not someone else’s. She liked to think her mother would be proud of her.

Following the most glorious smell of bacon and eggs into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Thorin standing before the ridiculously large skillet. The blush caught her unawares, her shower sports still tingling under her clothes and Bilbo looked away hoping everyone couldn’t tell what she’d just done. People bustled in and out—some helping and some just getting in the way—while bacon was transferred to a plate and more put on. There was something stupidly touching in the simple domesticity of the situation, and Bilbo wondered why the sight of Thorin cooking caught her so off-guard. Accepting a mug of coffee from Bifur she beat a hasty retreat and dropped on the couch next to Fili, shooting a scowl at Kili when he dropped next to her nearly making her spill. Fili waggled his eyebrows at her and Bilbo magnanimously released her coffee to accept the video game controller from him; within minutes she regretted every life decision that led her to this moment.

“Don’t let him cut you off Bilbo!” Bombur ordered her.

“You’ve got him this time,” Dwalin said, crouched behind her, “you’ve got him just hold it steady.”

“You’re not helping!” Bilbo snapped at them.

“Ooh,” Dori worried. “Ooooohh!” Bilbo’s character flew off the edge of the screen for the umpteenth time and Kili sailed right by her to victory.

“This is a stupid game!” Bilbo huffed. “I think my controller’s broken.”

Fili high-fived Kili over her head and she smacked him in the face with a pillow.

“Breakfast is ready,” a deep voice called them from the kitchen. The crowd leapt up from the living room, filling the table in organized chaos as Bilbo made her way to her open chair. The scene was so reminiscent of her first night with them all, and yet so completely different. Then they had been annoying, overwhelming, and intimidating. Now they were family.

The day unwound itself with surprising normality after that. A group left shortly after breakfast to shop security systems for the penthouse and a second group left in search of little things like sleeping bags, dishes, and towels. The banality of it all soothed Bilbo, confirming her decision to stay as the right one and when Thorin asked for her help she didn’t hesitate. She followed him, eyes widening as he lead her into his bathroom; the shower rod was missing and for one desperate moment she was sure he knew.

“Can you hold this for me while I screw it?” he asked.

“Uh, sure.” Bilbo took the new shower rod from him awkwardly.

“Just right here,” he said, reaching into her space to raise her arms high above her head. “It needs to line up with the hole just right.”

Bilbo wondered if she had become so sick and twisted in such a short amount of time, or if everything he said really did sound like sex.

“What, what are we doing?” she asked, when he leaned in behind her, adjusting her grip.

“I’m installing a new shower rod,” he said like it should be obvious. “No wait, you’re sliding down.” He was pressed up along her back, raising her hands back up.

“I’m too short,” she mumbled. She adjusted her grip trying to push the rod back up where he wanted it and the bracket clattered as it fell.

“You have to hold it!” he told her.

“Well I’m short!” she snapped.

“The curtain shouldn’t drag on the ground,” he explained. “It will mold.”

Bilbo rolled her eyes at him while he reset the bracket and they resumed their strange game of barrel of monkeys trying to hold the rod in place. He finally decided it was positioned appropriately and drilled two screws with quick efficiency. Then the game started again on the other side.

“Come on Bilbo,” he nudged her. “Use the tub for balance.” Bilbo went crimson at that one; he invaded her space again and she inhaled on instinct, not pulling away immediately when his beard teased her skin.

“Are you done yet?” she asked irritably, wound tight all over again.

“Sorry,” he said nonchalantly. “Somehow the old rod got pulled out. It was dangling from the wall when I came in earlier.”

Bilbo went still next to him as he finished screwing the new rod into the wall.

“It probably happened during the fight,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t know you, uh, were handy,” Bilbo said awkwardly. She needed to get out of this bathroom.

“I may be an idiot, but I’m not completely useless,” he said with a wry grin.

The installation was done and Bilbo dropped her hands, suddenly feeling like a fool—a ridiculously aroused, claustrophobic fool. He wasn’t touching her, but his presence pushed against her and the vivid fantasy she’d entertained that morning was wreaking havoc on her equilibrium.

“Bilbo,” he said softly, dropping his gaze and examining the electric screwdriver in his hand.

“Thorin it’s—it’s fine,” she rushed. He had that look again and she was sure it wasn’t fine. Whatever he was going to say almost certainly wasn’t fine because nothing he’d said since Smaug was fine, but she didn’t want to hear it. They were never going to work long term; she’d always known that. And it wasn’t only because of all the hurt and fighting—she and he were two fundamentally different people. He was aggression and stubbornness and she believed in forgiveness and consideration. She loved him—with her terrible luck she always would—but he would never love her, not like she deserved. Anything he said was only going to make that clear and she didn’t want to hear it. Besides, when he looked at her like that Bilbo could almost pretend. Was it so wrong to want to pretend?

“How can it be fine?” he asked softly.

Because of what he’d said and done? Or because of what he thought she had done to him? The answer to that made all the difference but Bilbo was too terrified to ask.

“Bilbo you…I thought you died,” he whispered. “I—I sat there in the dark covered in your blood and…”

Suddenly she was petrified he would forgive her; being buried alive had obviously affected him and she could tell he wanted to mend the bridge between them. But if he forgave her for a betrayal that never happened—she could never let that go. She supposed it was who he was, forever ruined by a madness he didn’t deserve; perhaps forgiving her was the only way he could make peace with it, but she would rather it go unsaid, rather he always leave her space to believe the best of him than confirm the worst.

“Bilbo say something,” he said. His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, she could have pulled away; he telegraphed his intention, reaching to cup her face, his fingers sliding across her cheek and into her hair, tipping her gaze up to his. His breath fanned lightly across her lips.

Heaven help her she let him. They didn’t work, they would never work, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want him.

“Can I,” he stopped, swallowing and looking less sure than she’d ever seen him, “can I kiss you?”

“Why?” She didn’t know why she said it, except that maybe she couldn’t believe he wanted to kiss her. Not really.

“Bilbo,” he whispered across her lips. It wasn’t an answer, but she already knew she didn’t want one.

“Yes.”

In a recent lifetime of bad ideas this one took the cake. Bilbo Baggins was no fool. If she did this, if they did this, it would only complicate things further. She loved him and he didn’t love her. He respected her and he cared for her—she knew that, but he didn’t love her. No, between Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins would always love more. But realizing that let Bilbo trick herself into thinking she could control it; nothing had ever felt so right as the warmth of his hand on her cheek or tasted as delicious as him. Bilbo told herself she deserved to have this one last time. She deserved to have him one more time. They were oil and water and tomorrow she would question every ounce of good sense she had, but right now, in this moment as he put down the screwdriver to pull her body against his she didn’t care. To be with him, to feel him one more time she would willingly take the complications; there was nothing more he could do to hurt her. And she wanted to end with him on something beautiful.

The kiss deepened, and he spun her back against the door, a quiet click trapping them together when he pushed her up against it. One hand flipped the lock and came back up her body, under her shirt, pushing her bra up and catching her breast in his hand. Bilbo moaned against his mouth when he pinched, whining when he released his grip on her. But he only reached around, grabbed her ass and lifted effortlessly, depositing her on the counter. He broke the kiss long enough to whip her shirt over her head, and Bilbo responded by greedily tugging his own up, getting lost for a moment in that expanse of chest when he obliged. But then he was back on her, hands moving across her skin as he nipped his way from her mouth to her ear then down the column of her neck, pausing for a moment on the spot that made her buck against him, relinquishing it only to capture her nipple between his teeth. Her hands fisted in his hair and she saw stars—it was so much better than her imagination. The intensity of his mouth on her, the careful violence of his teeth and controlled movement of his tongue made her arch into him, a shameless mewling sound pouring from her lips as wetness flooded between her thighs.

His hands dropped again, snapping the button on her jeans and he maneuvered her pants and underwear off with expert skill; the granite was cold on her ass and Bilbo squeaked, but then he was back, his hands sliding up from her knees as he spread her legs around his shoulders and he kissed a wet trail from navel to groin. His fingers spread her wide, his head dropped and her groan mingled with his at the first touch of his tongue. She swore she could feel him smiling against her.

“Tho—Thorin,” she panted.

“Not yet Bilbo,” he said against her. He dropped one hand, two fingers sliding against her but not pushing in. Not yet. “I haven’t even started.”

What he did with his tongue then was _unholy_ and Bilbo forgot to be careful of him, forgot to be quiet, forgot everything except the overwhelming sensations making her body move and writhe on the counter. It was too much and she jerked instinctively, but it was too good and she pushed closer. Her hands her twisted his hair, whether to hold him or shove him or direct him she didn’t know.

“Thorin!” she demanded and he chuckled, the vibrations making her convulse against him. He slid two fingers into her, finally, slowly, with torturous speed. He lifted his mouth away from her, crooking his fingers as he worked his hand and Bilbo wanted to cry, caught on a precipice of blissful agony—she was desperate to come but she never wanted it to stop.

“You’re beautiful Bilbo,” he said, laying a tender kiss on her thigh as she arched above him. “There is nothing in this world more amazing than you.” Any other time she would have rolled her eyes at him, but he was three-knuckles deep and when he dropped his mouth back to her clit the only thing she could do was explode.

He wrung the orgasm out of her, working with fingers and tongue until she was slumped against him, hands limp on his scalp and when he finally slid up, her legs were limp around his hips, too tired to hold him. Leaning in he captured her mouth in the sweetest kiss of her life, a kiss so tender Bilbo knew it ruined her and her body came back to life as she stretched back up, pulling him to her with arms and legs, already rubbing against his jeans.

She reached down, opening his pants with an efficiency to rival his and slid her hands inside, freeing him gently with her grasp; he threw his head back in a beautiful grimace and Bilbo laughed as she kissed the exposed tendons in his neck, letting her fingers slide over him at a frustratingly slow speed. He was already dripping and she ran her thumb around the tip, spreading moisture and bit his ear making him whimper. Crazed and clumsy he leaned over and tore open a drawer, destroying its contents in his frantic search. Finally finding a packet he tore open the condom and rolled it on with desperation. One hand came down hard around her hip, pulling her against him while the other lined him up and then he was pushing, sliding in so fast her laughter become a groan. She was still sensitive, and he moved in long even strokes, making Bilbo bow—her head pushing against the mirror behind her. She was barely on the counter now, but it didn’t matter; his hands held her ass and her thighs were locked around his hips. With each thrust he slammed harder but still Bilbo wanted more.

“Harder,” she begged through gritted teeth. “ _Harder_.”

His hips snapped against hers and then he was hitting right where she needed and something inside her ignited. Bilbo dug her nails into his back, every muscle in her body constricting in ecstasy; then he shifted his angle slightly and she couldn’t even make noise anymore. It was like every nerve fired at once; the tension climbed, winding tighter inside her and her legs trembled against him. Her muscles clenching, rolling in waves of pleasure but she couldn’t pull back. She was completely out of control, so totally beyond herself the only thing left was to feel; she hissed through her teeth and her breath choked in her throat, but then she was panting, begging him, her body, the universe—her only thought release. And when she came she bit his shoulder to keep from screaming the penthouse down around them. Her body convulsed, and he roared as his hips jerked—his own ecstasy capturing him and they gripped each other in abandon, clinging as they flew apart and came back together.

The first thing Bilbo became aware of was how loudly their breathing echoed in the bathroom. The second was what she’d just done. He pulled back, after a long moment, his body shaky in her arms, and stepped away from her reluctantly. He threw away the condom and tucked himself back into his pants gingerly while Bilbo slid off the counter and tried to get dressed again on unsteady legs. Every unwary movement made her pulse pound between her legs and she hissed as she pulled her pants on, even the cotton of her underwear feeling too coarse. Once she had her clothes more-or-less in order she reached for the door but Thorin was there, his hand capturing hers.

“Bilbo wait,” he said.

She looked down at their clasped fingers, wishing things were different. But they weren’t. She’d known when she kissed him where this was headed and this was the only place they were ever going to be.

“I know it’s complicated Thorin,” she said. “I know I’ve decided to stay and that’s hard for you. And I know it was selfish of me to do this.”

He looked at her bewildered but stayed silent. It was ridiculous but she thought he looked adorable in that moment, so much like the man she wished he were. He looked so much like he loved her. But Bilbo knew he never would.

“I think we’ll be okay eventually,” she told him. “But I understand if you need some time. But please don’t feel guilty about this. And please don’t—don’t hate me for it either.”

“No, I…I don’t,” he looked at her like she’d stopped making sense.

“We’re not meant to be,” she shrugged. It was easier to say than she thought. Maybe because she’d known it was true for so long now. “Maybe…maybe someday. You know how I feel about you. I respect you and I’m proud to fight alongside you. And I think you genuinely respect me too. That’s enough. Let’s accept that. The rest is just—just adrenaline and bad timing.”

“You—you _respect_ me?” He sounded poleaxed and Bilbo wondered that he could be so surprised. She loved him—had wholeheartedly loved him since before Beorn’s; he knew that so how could her respect come as such a surprise?

“Of course I respect you,” she explained. She swallowed, the emotions she expected finally appearing as she raised his hand and kissed it. “Thank you. For everything. Thank you.”

Bilbo turned away, his fingers sliding through her grip and walked out of the bathroom. She didn’t notice that Thorin stayed behind for a very long time.

 

It wasn’t that Bilbo avoided Thorin over the next day, but she didn’t seek him out either; she didn’t regret having sex with him, but it had left her reeling and she knew it had been a dangerous, stupid thing to do. She walked right into that bad idea with her eyes open and now, knowing he was nearby, she was edgy and hyperaware—sometimes she was so stupid she amazed even herself.

“If you sigh again I’m throwing you off the roof,” Dwalin told her. Bilbo looked up, surprised at the sincerity in that promise.

“I’m allowed to sigh,” Bilbo said.

“You’ve been sighing every three minutes for the last twenty-six hours,” Dwalin responded. “I counted.”

“I have not sighed every three minutes.”

Dwalin cocked an eyebrow at her. Bilbo sighed and shook her head. Then her eyes widened in awareness.

“You know it’s awkward trying to live with you two when you’re like this,” Dwalin said, flipping channels on the TV.

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” Bilbo looked back down at her book.

“I haven’t talked yet,” Dwalin went on conversationally. “Thorin’s a fuckhead, that’s a given. And if you wanna walk away from  him I’ll support you—he’s not an easy man to love.”

Dwalin fell silent and Bilbo took a breath—then let it out very carefully in a way that could never ever be construed as a sigh. “But?”

“But I think you love him and I know he loves you so it seems pretty fucking stupid for you two not to be together.”

Bilbo’s blinked once, slowly.

“Can you not forgive him?” Dwalin asked. “If it’s that I understand and I’ll shut up. What he did was unforgiveable.”

Bilbo couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. “I wish I couldn’t forgive him, but that’s the thing about forgiveness, I suppose. I probably _shouldn’t_ forgive him but…no. If he were sorry, if he could admit what he did was wrong and forgive himself—I don’t know if any of that is possible—but if he could I would forgive him. I already have forgiven him really. At least for that.”

“Then what?”

“He doesn’t love me Dwalin,” Bilbo said.

“Bullshit.”

Bilbo leveled a look at her friend. “Has he ever said it? Has he ever even _hinted_? It’s time to face facts here. We’re better as teammates than lovers.”

“Huh,” Dwalin grunted.

Bilbo went back to her book even though she didn’t feel much like reading after that. After a while Dwalin wandered off, and Bilbo switched to watching TV but when Fili, Kili, and Bombur plopped down she relinquished the remote; they tried to entice Bilbo into a game, but she wasn’t looking for company and she wandered off in search of privacy. The sun was setting and she headed for the balcony. She walked quietly towards the patio roof but froze at the sound of voices; she wanted to scream in frustration. How could there be people _everywhere?_ She started to turn back, but was stopped Thorin’s frustrated roar.

“I tried Dwalin!”

“Did you really or did you just stomp around and expect her to figure it out?”

“She _respects_ me,” he spat and Bilbo’s heart leapt in her throat. They were talking about her.

“Of course she respects you,” Dwalin said like that was obvious, “we all respect you. Most of the time.”

“No, she respects me,” he said again. “She respects me; she doesn’t care about me.”

“Do you know what respect means?” Dwalin shouted.

“I know it doesn’t mean love!” he hollered back. “Ouch!”

Bilbo wanted to peek around the corner—it sounded like someone just got punched, but she didn’t dare.

“Do you seriously not know she loves you?” The disgust was practically dripping from Dwalin’s words. “Why haven’t you told her how you feel? Why haven’t you apologized?”

There was no response to that. Bilbo knew she should leave, knew she was intruding, but she was locked in place—her fists balled in front of her mouth.

“After…when we were caught in that explosion and I thought—I thought she was going to bleed out in my arms.” His voice was so soft. “And she told me—Smaug tortured her Dwalin. We ripped her from her life and dragged her into ours and I was so angry at her. I was so scared she was going to die—Gandalf and Elrond were forcing me to be responsible for someone else, one more person I couldn’t protect from Smaug. And I just wanted her to leave. I wanted her to leave before I got her killed.”

They were silent awhile before Dwalin spoke again. “But she didn’t get killed.”

“I know,” Thorin chuckled. “And she kept all of us alive more than once. And I was so sure she hated me, but at Beorn’s…my first thought after the fight with Smaug, my _only_ thought should have been her. He tortured her and I was so angry. When I was stuck there in the dark with nothing but myself and her—no way to save us, totally powerless until you guys got there…I finally admitted it wouldn’t have mattered if I killed him. I wasn’t on a quest to kill Smaug. I was on a quest to be someone else, to be something else and then he was dead and I was still…me. So I turned all that rage and self-loathing on her. God, no wonder she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Dwalin said softly. “She loves you—against all odds and good sense by the way. Why the fuck haven’t you talked to her?”

“No,” Bilbo could practically see Thorin shaking his head. “There’s no way. I tried to apologize. I should have apologized the moment I got back and found her sleeping, but I was so shocked she was there. This beautiful hero sleeping in my bed, after everything I’d done—everything I was—and there I stood. Still me. Still a monster. I didn’t apologize then—I just kept fucking it up and now she’s moved on and it’s all too late.”

“But it’s _not_ too late,” Dwalin gritted. “Haven’t you been listening to me? _Talk to her_.”

“And say what?” Thorin asked. “She stopped me every time I tried to apologize today. From the moment she woke up I was trying to tell her how sorry I was—I am so fucking sorry. But every time, every single time I started, she cut me off. She doesn’t want to hear it. And then…” he trailed off and Bilbo knew exactly what he was remembering. Her teeth broke the skin of her knuckles as she bit down to stay silent. She needed to hear the rest. Her heart was trying to hammer through her ribs and she should go to him now; she should just run around the corner, but she needed to hear the rest. He was sorry. He was sorry and he had been trying to apologize, but she’d been so scared—so scared she knew what he was going to say. She took a step; he did care about her. They could figure this out.

Then every remaining member of the league ran by her, and someone grabbed her in their wake, dragging her out to Dwalin and Thorin with the group.

“We found Smaug’s army,” Balin said without preamble. “They’re marching on the city.”


	17. The Battle of Five Armies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So (obviously) this is the battle of five armies. Warnings for violence and some gore. I tried to make it a battle worthy song.

There was no time for talk of feelings or apologies after that. The League leapt into action—Thorin, Bifur, and Fili took off to scout the city and alert authorities. Oin contacted Gandalf and Elrond while the rest of them suited up. Bofur strapped daggers to his arms and thighs then picked up a medium sized cylindrical pipe. He twisted and it shot out, lengthening into a staff but sharpened at each end. Bombur strapped on a leather vest with blades embedded across her back—an addition that would make her deadly when she threw herself into battle—and slipped on brass knuckles over her solid fists. Balin and Dwalin strapped Kevlar vests on, adding a small arsenal of physical weapons. Kili pulled on clothes that glinted as he moved and Bilbo realized they were lined with impossibly thin strips of metal so that his lightning would electrify his entire body, making him a moving live wire.

When Bifur, Fili, and Thorin returned their faces were grim; the force descending on the city was massive and moving fast. Balin’s best guess was the traps they’d set off at each base somehow put the army in motion. The only thing standing between an army of abominations and a million people was their group of fourteen.

Bilbo stood off to the side, ready and able to fight but feeling lost and wishing she had something more to wear into battle then her sensible jeans and t-shirt. As if on cue Thorin walked by, grabbing her hand and taking her back into his bedroom. He left her standing by the door while he went to the closet and rooted around for a second; when he stood up he held the most beautiful and delicate looking shirt in his hands Bilbo had ever seen. It looked light enough to blow away in a breeze.

“Here,” he said. Bilbo took it; it was impossibly light and she wondered what it was made of. It seemed ridiculous, though, and she shook her head after a moment looking up at him confused.

“I—thank you,” she said, “but I should probably leave it here until we, until we’re—”

“That shirt is indestructible,” he told her. “It won’t make you invincible but…it’s the best protection I can give you.”

She swallowed and looked up at him, unsure what to say.

“I don’t know what Smaug’s done to these—things,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know how strong they are. But we’re outnumbered and chances are we’ll all end up in the thick of things. Please wear it.”

“I will,” Bilbo said. “Thank you.”

“Bilbo..” he trailed off, unable to finish, but she met his gaze and held it. So many things. She wanted to say so many things, but they didn’t have time. How they had wasted the time they had.

“I think I know,” she whispered without looking away. “After. Promise me we’ll talk after.”

“I promise.”

Taking a deep breath Bilbo nodded and turned to leave.

“Please be careful.”

Their plan was surprisingly simple. Oin and Gloin would stay on the rooftops, away from the hand-to-hand fighting where their mental powers would be useful but they could stay protected. Nori, Ori, and Dori would lead the first assault—breaking ranks and hopefully scattering the mass of encroaching creatures. Then it would be up to Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, Thorin, and Bilbo to melee. They were coming in on the western highway, swarming from whatever hidden place Smaug stored them—whatever hidden place the League had failed to find in time; police had gotten the roads closed and started evacuating people, but they hoped to engage before Smaug’s army made it to the city proper and protect as many civilians as possible. No one said much and Bilbo fought her own fear when she saw the cloud of dust on the horizon moving fast; there were a lot of them. The National Guard had been called up but Thorin persuaded them to stay back—these weren’t humans or animals coming for them but genetic monstrosities. The League was the city’s best bet so the police set up a perimeter and waited for tanks nobody was sure would make a difference anyway. Gandalf met them as they hit the city limits and Elrond and all of Elrond’s household came with him. It doubled their numbers and Bilbo smiled her thanks at every one of them willing to die for the city and its people. Then it was time.

Bilbo stood between Thorin and Gandalf and the dark tide surged toward them.

Nori, Ori, and Dori rose like great gods returned to walk among mortals once again. Their familiar visages disappeared, each subsumed as they became their element. Electricity snapped around Nori, his black hair whipping in the wind as the clouds overhead swirled and darkened, lightning crackling across the sky. The ground beneath their feet trembled, solid earth flowing at Ori’s command, elevating him above the oncoming horde—his hands and feet becoming the earth he manipulated. Buildings rattled in Dori’s wake as he floated through open air, his silver eyes gleaming and even the fine metal of Bilbo’s shirt shifted against her skin in his wake. Small mounds erupted across the landscape, forming peaks before exploding in bursts of magma, the molten rock whipping across the landscape in small controlled jets; a shadow passed over as metal beams flew by, momentarily blocking out the sun. They shot through the air, slamming into the ground smashing monsters where they landed and immediately the lightning cracked, ten simultaneous strikes turning the metal into lightning rods and Bilbo’s ears rang from the boom—the smell of fried ozone suffusing the air. Far off tornadoes formed, touching down and wreaking havoc before dissipating  back into the sky. And still the monsters came.

She saw Balin and Dwalin light up next to her, weapons of pure energy filling their hands and coating their bodies; Kili’s lightning whips snapped out, sizzling on the ground and running through his suit making him glow in the dusky light. Bifur and Thorin rose into the night, rising up to gain speed and momentum when they crashed down into the oncoming ranks. Bombur pawed at the ground, eager and ready to charge. Bilbo swallowed hard—more scared than she’d ever been in her life. Even Smaug hadn’t felt like this; it had been too fast then, too desperate to feel it coming. But now she stood before an army, each hand coated in a glowing blue light that reflected and sparkled off the silvery material of her shirt. Perhaps, if she could have seen herself, she would have felt better knowing she stood tall—a warrior who gave hope to everyone around her, a beacon of courage and power that outshone even Kili. She was Bilbo Baggins: the dragonslayer.

But Bilbo couldn’t see herself and she only knew she was choking on her heart, adrenaline making the world sharp and slow as she faced down overwhelming odds. So Bilbo did what she always did—she took a deep breath, braced herself, and met it head on.

The monsters slammed into them like a wave and Bilbo forgot about her friends, forgot about the city, forgot about anything but survival. Their numbers were astronomical, creatures of varying sizes biting, clawing, and attacking her from every direction. She spun, an arc of blue swirling in her wake decapitating and bisecting. Something swiped down her back and she stumbled forward, but the shirt held and Bilbo dropped to one knee, ducked her head and turned to fire behind her. Kili’s whips snapped around her, clearing space as she climbed back to her feet and she saw Bifur slam to the earth, his body corkscrewing through the air and swords leading the way. Thorin hit the ground like a bomb, bodies exploding out in a wave and then Dwalin was there, spinning and fighting at his back as the horde pushed back in. These monsters weren’t invulnerable thankfully; it was their only break and still might not be enough.

The ground rocked again but this time it wasn’t Ori’s power; it was shaking with powerful steps. A hulking beast charged straight for Bilbo. She froze, panic locking her body, but Bombur roared past her, an unstoppable force that blew lesser monsters out of her way. She crashed headlong into the beast and the shockwave blew Bilbo back a step. Fili ran by her then too, a trail of confused faces in his wake before they toppled, falling like dominoes never knowing what hit them. But still they came.

Bombur flew over her head, hitting the ground and skidding as the beast roared; the wave of bodies around Bilbo surged forward again and a claw caught her across the face tearing a gash along her hairline. Thorin rose up, but he was caught, vicious talons digging into his ankle and dragging him back; bodies were surging up Ori’s mound, following and nipping at his heels as he surfed the earth to escape them. Balin fell as an fanged mouth bit into his leg, tearing out chunk of skin and muscle.

And then Bilbo heard a strange cry to her right and she looked to see the ranks of monsters shatter as the people of Laketown charged. Bard led them, and Bilbo gasped as his eyes turned jet black, before black beams fired, carving a path of destruction. The army scrambled under Bard’s assault, giving the League time to regroup. Bilbo fought her way to Balin and Dwalin was already there; they fought back to back, protecting him as he tried to get his ruined leg back under him. She could see Bombur was up again, the spikes on her armor rending flesh as she tore back towards the beast heading for Bard.

“Bilbo!” Gandalf roared through the din. She spun and he pointed with one finger, a blazing sword of light sweeping monsters aside with the other. A second beast, as large as the one Bombur was still clashing with ambled in great lumbering steps towards Fili, Kili, and Thorin. Thorin was down, but Bilbo couldn’t see if it was serious; Fili and Kili made a fearsome wall, Thorin’s dark head barely visible behind Fili’s flurry and Kili’s snapping whips. Bilbo’s world narrowed to the monster—she released her defense of Balin to Bofur and ran through the horde, a bolt of crackling blue-silver leading the way.

The creature reared up on tree-trunk legs, fifteen feet high and raised fists thicker than clubs over its head. Bilbo fired a bolt at its knee, blowing the kneecap apart and it roared in agony as it collapsed backwards. But it wasn’t done. Rising back up on its good leg it swiped with one arm, sweeping the ground fearsomely fast and sending Bilbo flying. The shirt held, saving her ribs but it knocked the wind out of her and Bilbo slammed into the ground gasping for breath. Its giant palm slammed down, squashing Bilbo like a bug but she raised her hands and let loose, blowing a bloody hole straight through it, drenching herself in a gory waterfall and when it jerked its hand back bones and tendons dangled. Wiping its blood from her eyes she raised her hands at its face and fired again—its head exploded like a melon spewing bone and brain behind it.

Bilbo’s breath sawed in and out of her lungs but she spun as someone screamed behind her. Kili was down. She started back to them, the explosion of power a moment ago exhausting her, but Thorin rose again—slow but sure. Blood still oozed from his side and his face twisted in a grimace telling her his healing was having trouble coping; Fili made a wall around them, a blur on the field as he knocked back every advancing creature but still they came. It was like… _like they were healing_.

Bilbo wanted to cry, but there was no time for it. She swallowed her exhaustion and powered on, forcing herself through to Kili. Thorin spared her a glance and her words caught—his wounds were terrifying up close. Kili was alive and Bilbo stood at his feet, her back to Thorin as they protected him.

The numbers attacking them were dwindling, but there were still so many. And Bilbo watched anything not completely blown apart stand back up after a moment, their bodies reknitting in seconds. She felt herself trembling, the strain of using this much power starting to shut her body down. But still they fought on. Gandalf was a gray whirlwind, pearlescent sword cleaving the air in front of him; Bombur rolled and swung, smashing heads and bodies with each swing. Bifur’s swords snickted through the air, deadly daggers wielded with startling efficiency while Bofur’s staff stabbed and cracked, twirling in a vicious dance around his body. But they were going to lose; Bilbo knew it was only a matter of time. And then the most amazing thing happened.

A giant bear leapt into the fray, bigger than any animal Bilbo had ever seen and its roar made monsters cower before it.

They surged back towards Bilbo’s group, hemming them in as they tried to escape the massive crunching jaws of the bear and the merciless black beams of Bard. Every shot Bilbo fired was agony—the energy ripping out of her from reserves long run dry. Thorin grunted behind her, but she couldn’t spare him a glance; Fili ran by, blocking a strike aimed for Bilbo’s head but he stumbled in front of her, a lucky hit tripping him up. Bilbo screamed, the sound lodged in her throat as he rolled to a stop and was buried under a writhing mass of twisted bodies. But Elrond was there—his body luminescent, lit from within and the pile blew back, revealing Fili’s still, bleeding frame.

The bear’s appearance turned the tide. More creatures were staying down than standing back up now, and their corpses littered the shattered topography outside the city. Her friends found her, placing their bodies between her and the running monsters; it took her a moment to understand. The monsters were running _away_ from them. They had won. She had fallen to her knees somehow, she didn’t remember when, but she couldn’t stand back up. Her hands were lead, hitting the ground as she sat back on her heels, too exhausted even to kneel. Bilbo looked over her shoulder at Kili, panting for breath and let loose a sob when she saw his chest rise and fall. He was alive. But then she saw Thorin.

She was crawling, dragging exhausted limbs over bloody earth—he was on his side, facing away from her, half covered in the pieces of monsters he’d torn apart. Bilbo threw them off of him, sobbing with panic as she rolled him onto his back, her hands running across his face, fingers pressing against his neck for a pulse.

“No,” she cried. “No, no, no, no.” It was the only thing that would come out. His chest wasn’t moving.

“Thorin!” she screamed. “Wake up Thorin! You can heal yourself you stupid oaf! Don’t you do this to me. Don’t you dare be dead!”

He lay still in her arms, his skin ashen under dirt and blood.

“Thorin no,” she tried again, wiping blood away from his eyes, off his lips. “Thorin I love you. I love you and I’m sorry and we’re going to live happily ever after. Don’t do this. Don’t be dead. For me. If you love me don’t be dead.”

The words were strangled by sobs, tears cutting paths down her cheeks as she pressed her face to his, cradling him against her. It couldn’t be—not after all they’d been through. Not when they were finally going to be together. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “So, so sorry. I love you. I love you so much.”

“Hey,” his weak voice whispered in her ear. “That’s my line.”


	18. The Road Goes Ever On and On

It was Dwalin that found them, crying like idiots and clutching each other, Bilbo nearly insane from exhaustion and refusing to let Thorin go. As soon as Gandalf and Elrond declared it safe, emergency personnel flooded the scene racing towards fallen and still bodies checking for anyone caught in the cross-fire. When her body finally shut down, too drained to stay awake as adrenaline ebbed, Bilbo slipped into sleep with Thorin’s hand gripped tightly in hers.

She woke up in the hospital, her right hand carefully placed on her side so it wouldn’t tug at the IV needle and her head pillowed on Thorin’s broad chest. He had crawled into the hospital bed with her, holding her to him as they slept and his chest rose and fell evenly beneath her cheek. He was clean, dressed in fresh clothes and the setting sun was a slash of light across his face, slipping between slits in the blinds. His black hair shone in the orange light, but strands of silver glittered, sparkling at his temples. Bilbo wondered that she hadn’t noticed that before and for one second everything was so perfect—he was so perfect—it stole her breath. He was here. They were _alive_.

“Staring at me like that makes it hard to remember you’re still recovering,” he rumbled.

Bilbo burst into tears.

“Whoa,” he said, arms tightening around her in surprise. “What—I’m sorry!”

“No,” Bilbo said in the weird laugh-sob of the emotionally demented. “You’re alive. You’re alive and you’re here.”

“I am,” he said softly, his own eyes glittering as he looked at her. “And so are you.”

She buried her nose in his chest, just reveling in how good it felt to feel him; one of his hands reached up and smoothed her hair back, stroking her as she fought to get her feelings back to this side of sanity.

“Wait,” she jerked up. “Fili. Kili. Balin. Did anyone—”

“They’re fine,” Thorin smiled. “Everyone survived. Somehow…everyone survived.” His eyes more than glittered now and Bilbo hugged him as tight as she could while he swiped surreptitiously at his cheeks.

“Thorin,” she said into his chest. “Thorin I’m—”

“Shh,” he stopped her. “It’s my turn. I get to say this now.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

“I love you Bilbo.”

He said it so simply—so honestly—that Bilbo kept her face buried, unable to look at him. They were the words she’d wanted to hear for so long, words she’d begged for in her dreams and now that she had them it was too much. But then his hand was there, tipping her face up to him and she was trapped in the warm, clear blue of his gaze and his strong hand anchored her as he said it again unflinchingly.

“Bilbo Baggins I love you. And I’m sorry—I’m more sorry than I can ever say for how I’ve treated you. If you can’t forgive me I understand, I—” he trailed off, momentarily at a loss.

“Thorin I—”

“No hear me out,” he interrupted her again. “Don’t say anything yet. Please.”

She nodded and stayed quiet.

“You deserve someone that wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve someone that _couldn’t_ —” his voice broke, but he swallowed and went on. “I can only say I’m sorry and beg your forgiveness and I will never be angry with you, never resent you if you cannot forgive me. I love you…I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. I hated myself and I forgot—I forgot that I decide who I’m going to be.”

Tears were slipping down his cheeks now, mirroring Bilbo’s own, but he didn’t shy away from her, didn’t try to hide them. He held her gaze, letting himself be vulnerable in front of her.

“Can I talk yet?” she asked. And he nodded with a smile. “I love you too you big…stupid…stubborn…idiot. I love you too.”

He laughed, a wonderful happy laugh that filled his chest and transformed his face—years melted away and Bilbo laughed back, caught in the beauty of his happiness. Then he was kissing her and the laughter faded, morphing into something more passionate and intense. When they finally broke apart they were both breathing hard, their breath mingling in the hair’s breadth between their lips.

“Thorin,” she sighed his name.

“Mm,” he answered.

“If you ever do it again I’ll explode your head like a melon.”

“Deal.”

 

They didn’t get a key to the city or a parade. Partly because Thorin wasn’t interested in meeting with the mayor but mostly because half the politicians in the city thought Durin’s League should pay for the damage left in the wake of the battle. As soon as they were able they were all out clearing debris—Ori and Dori were especially helpful in rebuilding the roads—but the property damage was extensive and not everybody had insurance. Anonymous donors generously replaced cars and other material goods for some but even superheroes can’t fix everything.

Slowly things went back to normal, or as normal as they ever were when you were fighting crime and the occasional supervillain on a regular basis. Bard and Thorin still hated each other, but tensions with Elrond seemed to have eased slightly—Bilbo knew Thorin only tried because of her. Some bridges couldn’t be completely repaired it seemed. What was surprising was Beorn; Bilbo had choked on her breakfast when Gandalf told her Beorn was the giant bear as if she should have known. He went back to his mountain, but he visited now whenever he was in town and for some reason Bombur hated him—she went on for days after his first visit about how much the smelly giant irritated her; for his part Beorn seemed to take special delight in tormenting her, squeezing beside her on the couch and at the table, challenging her to games and laughing his great booming laugh every time she told him, point blank, she found his face annoying. Bilbo figured if Bombur really hated him she would have punched him by now, but instead Bombur always took the bait; she seemed incapable—or unwilling—to walk away.

One warm summer night when the penthouse was full and Thorin was stomping around like an ogre with a splinter under his nail grumbling about no privacy Bilbo slipped out of their room in a long, loose skirt and blouse and stepped up behind him to whisper something in his ear. His eyes widened and he swallowed once, twice before grabbing her wrist and dragging her out the patio door behind him. Before anyone could guess what was happening he took off, shooting up into the sky with Bilbo in his arms.

“You promise you won’t drop me,” she laughed.

“I swear,” he said, sucking her neck, hidden in the clouds as his hands held her against him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and Thorin nipped her ear as he used one hand to pull the excess material free from between them. Then his fingers were sliding over her and into her and Bilbo threw her head back, trusting herself to him.

“Can you,” she stopped as he bit her nipple through her shirt, his tongue dragging the cloth across her while his fingers crooked, working her until she was panting. “Can you do this flying?” Her voice broke—he had shifted his attentions and his thumb was rubbing mercilessly while his fingers plundered. He didn’t even bother with an answer, using his teeth to pull her neckline down so he could get his tongue on her skin. Pulling herself together Bilbo’s hands worked between them, unbuttoning his jeans and reaching inside, freeing him; he was already hot and throbbing in her hand. Releasing her reluctantly he moved his hand back to her ass, lifting her easily as she lined him up and they both moaned as he pushed inside. Bilbo locked her feet behind him and rode Thorin across the night sky.

He was relentless and Bilbo clung to him, she knew she was safe—she trusted him implicitly but the thrill of falling made her hyperaware and every thrust felt dangerous, each slam of his hips against hers made her feel like she was an instant from plunging out of control. It was amazing and Bilbo let her head fall back as she moaned long and loud. Balling one fist in the back of her shirt, she slid her free hand between them, working herself with his furious pace. She was clenching around him, that spring in her gut winding tighter and tighter and then it snapped and Bilbo was soaring even higher, coming so hard her legs kicked against him as she convulsed. His fingers dug bruises and he roared as he followed, buried inside her, riding her through their aftershocks.

“Let’s do that again,” Bilbo panted when she felt like speaking again.

“Abso—FUCK!” He did almost drop her then, might have if Bilbo hadn’t been clinging to him so tightly. They had severely overestimated the chances of his pants staying on and Thorin made one desperate grab midair before they fell away through the darkness.

“Did you just—did you just drop your pants?!” Bilbo asked him.

“This isn’t funny!”

They were five hundred feet in open air with a penthouse full of people waiting for them and Thorin Oakenshield had just lost his pants. Bilbo didn’t care if the whole city heard her laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER. 
> 
> Thanks for reading folks. like seriously. It's been a long and bumpy ride and I certainly never thought we were going to get here. I *think* I have caught all those stupid typos but please feel free to alert me to any that you find. You're all the best and I sincerely hope you enjoyed yourself through this often ridiculous and unnecessarily dramatic superhero AU. Hearts!


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